Speed Racer: Trixie's Saga
by MachGirl
Summary: The Grand Prix was a year ago. Trixie has joined Speed on the track. It's romantic at first, until she starts winning. Now she's a target, Racer X is lecturing her, and Speed's pushing her away. Will she get to Grand Prix or settle for the skies?
1. Prologue

_**Author's Note:  
**This story is actually based more on **Speed Racer: The Videogame** than anything else. _

_**Disclaimer  
**Speed Racer _is a tradmark of Speed Racer Enterprises Inc.  
_Speed Racer The Motion Picture_ & _Videogame _is copyright Warner Brothers' Entertainment Inc.  
And If I owned Emile Hirsch, I'd be WAAAY too busy to write stuff llike this.

_--This story is fictional. Any resemblence to actual persons, living or dead, is unintentional and completely coincidential.--_

One year changed my life.

One year ago, I got to play spotter in a cross country race for the best race car driver I know.

One year ago, I helped build a car from the ground up … in thirty-six hours.

One year ago, I got kissed in front of a thousand flashing cameras … more or less.

One year ago, Speed Racer won the Grand Prix, and the racing world forever changed.

One year ago I put my helicopter, the TRX, into the garage.

I haven't touched it since.

One year ago I drove in the Casa Cristo. No one knew it was me … but _I_ did. And I decided it was time I got a piece of the action.

My name is Patricia "Trixie" Shimura. This is a tale of love, lies, racing, and car-fu: my saga.


	2. A Tale in the Making

**_A Tale in the Making_**

The black boot slipped perfectly upon my small, dancer-like legs. The black and pink checkered gloves were so broken in; it felt like I was missing a layer of skin when I took them off. Soon the doors to the track would open, and then this slow moment that seemed to have no end would speed up, and the next half-hour or so would feel like minutes.

I opened my locker. On the top cabinet, in front of my pink helmet, was a photograph of two children. One, a girl in pink, was me. The other, a young boy in a white and red helmet that was ever-so-present I was convinced it was glued to his head once, was someone more known to the general public—Speed Racer. I looked at the picture and smiled.

He and I went back a ways, to about third grade. I am the daughter of the head of a very successful race car company. I was, I'll admit, a spoiled brat. However, Daddy was always working and, as such, he had no time for me. The maid walked me to school each morning and I walked alone back home.

On my first day of fourth grade, I stood expectantly in the company garage watching my father work under a Mercedes. I whined, "You promised to drive me to school today."

"What was that, pumpkin?" he asked.

"School!" declared I. "You said you'd drive me to school!"

"Was that today, sweetheart?" he inquired. I rolled my eyes and sucked my teeth. I knew what that meant. He tried to assuage my disappointment with a feeble explanation of, "See this car, honey? This car is going to be yours some day! Don't you want it to look nice?"

"But, Daddy!" I moaned.

"If you let me off the hook," he offered, "I'll buy you a pony."

"I don't WANT a pony!!" yelled I. "I want you to drive me!" I stomped my feet and screamed, "Oh, for_get_ it!" And I ran all the way to school.

The only thing I liked more than school was the idea of flying. All I ever wanted to do was sprout wings and soar. With my shoes pitter-pattering as I dashed, I almost didn't touch the ground. The wind in my hair put a smile on my face.

"Vroom! Vroom!" called a voice suddenly. "And he wins! The crowd goes wild!! AHHH!! AHHH!!" I could recognize that voice anywhere. My grin widened. I looked inside the school gates to find Speed in his little soapbox car, the red helmet slightly misplaced on his head.

Okay, so maybe there was _ONE_ other thing I liked more than school.

Speed was the cutest boy in our class … at least if you had asked me. He wasn't a genius, but he was very sweet and his family was SO nice. He caught sight of me. His imitation of a roaring crowd ceased, and all attention was focused on me.

"And who is waiting for him at the end of the track? Why, it's Trixie!!" he added.

"Hi, Speed!" I said. He was the first boy I ever really liked. Going the summer without him had nearly driven me into an elementary depression. I kneeled in front of his car and admitted, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," he replied. "I thought about you all summer!" If there was one thing I could be sure of, it was Speed's feelings for me. As I was the daughter of a driver myself, I was probably the only girl who ever remotely understood him.

"I want to give you something!" he said. He reached into his pocket and gave me a small toy car. It was from his collection, which I had seen so many times I no longer had to close my eyes to picture it.

"But this is your favorite car!" gasped I.

"I know," Speed said. "But I want you to have it."

"Oh … Speed," I wistfully said. Something had changed between us after that. Our friendship had gone to a deeper level.

"You're still coming over tonight, right?" he asked.

"Of course!" I proclaimed. Every time I came over, the Racers treated me like family. Mom Racer cooked my favorite meal, and Pops let us pretend to drive the Mach 5, the high-speed racing car. Sometimes the Racer house felt more like home than home actually did.

Things didn't change in high school.

"Dad, you promised to give me a driving lesson this weekend, remember?" asked I. He made a noise of feigned regret, "Um … this weekend's not good for me, dumpling, how about next weekend?" He handed me an oiled wrench, "Hold this?"

I looked at my light pink clothes, but still took the wrench. I just held it at arm's length. I explained, "Dad, it's a three day-weekend. That's _why_ I asked you to do it this weekend."

"Sweetie, just wait," he offered, "I'll buy you that private jet you wanted so much."

"I wanted a HELICOPTER!" yelled I. "Do you know me at ALL?!"

"Then I'll get you your helicopter," he said. "Please, Patricia …"

"I'm going to Speed's house," I said, placing the wrench on the hood of the car. "I'm sure _he'd_ like to spend the weekend with me!"

"Sweetie, who is this boy?" asked my father. "What do his parents do?"

I had fought for nine years not to tell that. I knew he'd never want me associating with rival companies. But before I could think of my ploy, the words slipped out of my mouth, "His father owns Racer Motors."

So much for that.

"WHAT?!" he yelled. "Patricia? Patricia!! Come back here! You stay away from that boy! PATRICIA!!"

I stood outside the house and waited until Speed, with his strangely perfect hair, drove up to the curb in the white and red Mach 5. Self-satisfied, he said, "Hey, Trixie, check out my new wheels!"

I fingered the door handle, asking, "So, Pops finally let you have the Mach 5."

"Sure did," he concurred, a toothy grin flashing at me. "Hop in." He pushed out the door. I was admittedly excited. I'd never been in the Mach 5 when it was moving before. I threw my books in first, and then crawled in myself.

He seemed to notice my distress, because he commented, "You seem blue, Trixie."

"My father won't teach me how to drive," I explained. He looked at my disappointed face, and I guess it tugged at his heartstrings, because he concluded, "I'll teach you."

"You will?"

"Yeah!" he said enthusiastically. He pulled the car over, "Right here, right now." I sputtered, "Wh--what?! Speed … I …" But he unbuckled both our seatbelts and I lost the will to say no. we tried to shift seats and I ended up falling in his lap. There was an awkward silence, laughter, and then we went into our places. Though Speed didn't teach me everything I know about driving, or racing, he sure gave me my start. During that driving lesson was when Speed leaned over and kissed my cheek.

Not long after, I was on the Racer porch with luggage. At six in the morning. I knocked furiously on the door. Speed opened it, tired face a lot less happy to see me than it usually would have been.

"Trixie?" he asked. "What are you … it's six in the morning …?" he said, too sleepy to finish his sentences.

"They kicked me out!" I wept.

"Huh?"

"Daddy told me to chose between the family business and you," I explained. "I chose you. Please, Speed, I've got no place else to go."

He took my bag immediately, saying "Come on in. I'll talk Mom and Pops into something permanent in the morning."

I threw myself on him in a hug, "Oh, Speed!"

At my locker, I pushed the picture aside, revealing a small red toy car. I pushed it a little from side to side and chuckled. I pulled out my helmet and placed it on my head.

"_All drivers to your cars_," said a voice over the PA. "_All drivers to your cars._"

There was my cue.


	3. Friendly Competition

**_Friendly Competition_**

That day at Thunderhead was the last race of the Pro Qualifier. I, being a Pro Amateur, was anxious to make it. If I did, I could finally call myself a Pro. I grasped my hand to my helmet and left the locker room, my black heels click-clacking behind me.

The path from the lockers to the track had a fork in it. One side, I supposed, was for the men and the other for the women. Sauntering from the right side of the fork was my favorite of my competitors in this race: Speed.

"Hi, Speed," I said, giving him a small wave. His face lit up as soon as he saw me. It was cute, almost like we were little kids again. He had his helmet under his right arm.

"Are you ready, Trixie?" he asked.

"I have to be, don't I?" replied I. He chuckled feebly, "I guess you do." He offered his arm, "Shall we?" I put my hand through the crook of his arm, "We shall." And together we went to face the crowd ahead.

Our cars were already lined up on the gray and orange start line. My TRX-1 was stationed to the right and slightly behind Speed's Mach 6. We threw our helmets over our heads and slipped inside our vehicles.

I took an opportunity to look at the scenery before we got going and it became little less than a blur. Thunderhead Raceway might have been called so just because it was so bright. There were neon lights and illuminated billboard advertisements that brightened the night so much it could have been broad daylight. Above our heads were balloons in the shape of people's heads.

"What's _that_ about?" I asked no one in particular.

"_3…"_

The countdown was starting. I turned my key in the ignition. The engine started to purr. I made a satisfied chuckle.

"_2 …_"

Speed once told me that if I accelerated at just the right moment, I would get a boost, but I never did get the hang of it. Just for the hell of it, I started accelerating as the PA said 'two.'

"_1 … GO!!"_

My car darted off the start line at 380 mph! I couldn't see anything on either side of me. I wasn't used to such high speed so early in a race. I usually built myself up. Gradually, the track came back into view, and I could see Speed chuckling at me.

"You finally got it," he said, slightly stunned. "How did it feel?"

"I think I left all my internal organs at the start line!"

"They'll catch up with you pretty soon," he assured me. "And when they do … please turn to the other side of the track."

"We'll see," I replied. "Where are the rest of the cars?"

"Behind us," he said. I glanced in my rearview mirror. There they were. I felt rather accomplished in that moment.

"Turn!" he called. In unison we went into a drift to avoid hitting the side of the track. I am, if I do say so, a better drifter than Speed. I've always had more control. He scraped a bit on the neon side with flashing arrows pointing forward.

"Ramp jump!" I called moments later. We went into the air, side by side, it was rather romantic. We stared at each other, made unison 360° turns, and landed back on the track with a thump. The crowd started to chant, "SPEED! SPEED! SPEED!"

That kind of stuff always happened when Speed did a stunt. People loved him. He had natural charisma. Not like me.

But my self-pity was suddenly broken by the shout of some girl coinciding with the slogan on her hand drawn sign: "I LOVE YOU, SPEED!!"

"_What?!_" I shrieked, seething. I got so distracted that I pulled my car into an unintentional half-pipe jump. I cursed myself, "Oh great, just great!" I rolled through the air and back by Speed's side.

"Jealous much?" asked Speed.

"Oh, shut up and drive" I said. He did as I said, but he was still laughing like a hyena. I would have thrown my helmet at his head, but he was wearing one, too, and that would have kind of defeated the purpose.

"Fan girls," I muttered, wishing I could cross my arms and instead just sucking my teeth.

"You know I'm all yours," he promised.

"Yeah, sure," I replied. "I just wish _they_ did!"

We came upon the finish line, he less than a second before me.

"_And the winner of the Pro Qualifier is … SPEED RACER!" _called the anonymous person over the PA. At the announcement, Mom and Pops Racer came running up to us.

"Oh, Speed, Trixie, we are so proud of you!" said Mrs. Racer. She brought a camera, "Smile, you two." I put up my black visor and the two of us leaned closer together. There were a thousand flashes that appeared in unison with Mrs. Racer's. Speed and I both turned away and blinked furiously. As if the track wasn't bright enough itself.

The next day we got invitations informing us we had been accepted into the Survivor Series. Speed was ecstatic. I mean, I was happy, too, but Speed looked like he could have bounced off the walls.

"Don't you see how big this is, Trixie!?" he asked. "It's the first step to this year's Grand Prix!"

"That's what you said about the Pro Qualifier," I reminded him.

"Well, that was like a baby step," he said. "This is a _real_ step." I kissed his cheek, "Okay, Speedy, you keep stepping. I'm going to change for breakfast." I trotted up the stairs to my room. As I got closer to the top, I could hear voices. Then I heard the shouting of a monkey.

"Spritle and Chim-Chim," I said to myself. But it didn't sound like it was coming from their room. I went to my door and heard Spritle reading something aloud. It was something I remembered all too well.

"_I don't know why I like him so much. He thinks we're just friends; I know it. He much rather race than be with me. I wish I could tell him how I feel, but I'm so scared. I don't want to lose Speed as a pal if I can't be his girlfriend."_

He made a noise that sounded like vomiting followed by an utterance of, "Girls." The little brat was reading my high school diary!!

I burst through the door and yelled, "_What_ exactly do you little sneaks think you're doing?!"

"Nuthin,'" said Spritle innocently.

"What's that book in your hand?" I asked. He looked at his palm, "Uh … this?"

"Yeah, that!" I screamed. "The book that clearly says 'Property of Trixie: Touch and DIE!'" Spritle looked at the front cover, "Oh, would you look at that …"

"AHHHHHHHHH!!" I screamed. Spritle and Chim-Chim glanced at each other and started to run.

"You get back here!" I yelled. "I'm gonna scramble you worse than eggs! You won't even be able to recognize _each other _when I'm done with you!!"

We ran by the kitchen table, past Speed, who was eating his breakfast pancakes. He had a piece on his fork and halfway to his mouth before he stopped to watch the three of us. He didn't seem to find any reason to stop me, apparently, because all he did was shrug, stick the fork in his mouth, and eat.


	4. Most Likely

**_Most Likely_**

Now that I was in the Pro ranks, I was aware that my Pro Amateur tricks were not going to cut it anymore. As such, during our week break until the start of the Survivor Series, Speed and I took the opportunity to work on our cars—okay, scratch that, _I _was working on the TRX-1 and _Sparky _was working on the Mach 6. Speed, bless him, was just sitting at the wheel.

I wanted to throw a wrench at him.

"Give her a go, Speed," said Sparky. Speed turned the key in the ignition. The Mach 6 gave a great roar.

"Oh, Sparky, she's a lion!" praised Speed.

"And what was she before?" asked I, coming out from under the TRX-1.

"Compared to this?" he responded. "A kitten."

I wiped my sweaty forehead with my arm. Only seconds after I did look at my hands and realize they were covered in oil. Of course. Stupid me. I growled at myself and then looked up to Speed. Seductively I said, "You know, golden boy, if you're not going to work on _your_ car, you might want to," I looked away coyly, "I don't know," I looked back, "help me with mine?"

He snorted.

"Fine then!" I said in mock anger.

Speed leapt out of the car, held his hand out to me, and demanded, "Pass me a wrench."

"Huh?" I asked. I really hadn't expected _that_ to happen. I admitted, "You know I was kidding, right? I wouldn't expect you to work on a car that's competing against you."

"Well, normally I wouldn't," said Speed. "But not every car that's competing against me has _you_ in it."

"Oh …" I murmured. I picked up my oily wrench and handed it to him. As he reached to take it from me, our hands touched. We gazed into each other's eyes, totally absorbed in the moment. I really hoped he was looking past the smug of black on my face.

"Trixie, you know I—"

He was cut off by the opening of the garage door. Mom Racer, ever-chipper, clapped her hands and said, "Alright, mandatory break, you three. It's lunch time!"

"Coming, Mom," said Speed. He let go of the wrench and followed her back inside the house. Whatever it was he was going to say to me, he'd totally forgotten it.

Sparky followed Speed and Mrs. Racer. I was stuck in the garage alone, wondering what Speed could have possibly started to say. After a moment or two, I stiffened, shouted to myself, "I _hate _it when this kind of stuff happens!!" got up, and went to wash up.

They should give out medals for being able to wash off motor oil. After four attempts, I could still feel the sleek, greasy fluid all over myself, as if the soap and water had merely made it invisible.

"Sorry I'm late," I said as I jogged into the kitchen and took my seat at the table next to Speed. Just before I sat, I gave Spritle a flick on the head.

"HEY!" he yelled. "Mom! She hit me!"

"You're lucky that's all I did!" I exclaimed, pointing my fork at him. "Don't think I've just forgotten about what you two did!"

"Oh, don't worry," said Mrs. Racer. "They've been punished for that." She looked to Spritle and Chim-Chim, lecturing, "A diary is something very private and not something to be read by nosy little boys and their naughty monkeys!"

"If you don't want someone to read it, why would you write it down?" Spritle asked to no one in particular. Mom Racer and I glanced at each other, as if to admit to one another that he had a point.

"How's the work coming?" asked Mrs. Racer, apparently wishing to change the subject.

"It's going great," replied Speed. "They're not going to know what hit em when we get out there."

"That's right," said Pops, "my boy's in the Survivor Series."

"And Trixie, too," Speed reminded him.

"How do you two feel about competing against one another?" asked Mrs. Racer. Speed squeezed my shoulder briefly. "I feel fine. Trixie's a great driver. And soon she'll show everybody she's the best female Pro racer in the WRL."

"Best '_female' _racer?" asked I. "What's that supposed to mean?" Speed could immediately that he said something wrong. He stammered, "W—well …"

"I take it you mean _second best?_" I asked. "After _you?_"

Speed's eyes shifted around the room.

"Hey, did anyone see this morning's paper!?" inquired Mrs. Racer, desperately changing the subject again. She pulled out a newspaper and placed it on the table, explaining, "I wanted to get you both in the same room before I showed this to you!"

Speed and I peered over our food to the paper. The front page had a picture of us on it, one of the many taken at Thunderhead, with a headline above it reading: "RACING'S NEW POWER COUPLE TEARS UP TRACK!"

"Cool beans!" I declared. I picked it up to take a closer look. Below our picture said: "Speed Racer and Girlfriend Prove a Force to be Reckoned With."

'_Girlfriend,_' they called me, like I didn't have a name! I suppressed a growl.

"Well, don't just stare at it!" said Spritle. "What does it say?!"

I cleared my throat and started reading, "_Yesterday at Thunderhead Raceway, the participants of next week's Survivor Series were determined. Among them is, expectantly, last year's Grand Prix winner, Speed Racer. Joining him is his steady and chaste lady-love, Trixie Racer._" I stared at the words, "Trixie Racer?"

"I guess we must be married," said Speed. "Hey, we should put a pillow under your shirt and go out in public and see if they think you're preg…" he saw his mother's less-than -amused face and slowly finished the word, "…nant." He smiled awkwardly, rolled his eyes, and looked back to the paper with me.

I continued, "_The young lady has quickly climbed herself through the ranks of Amateur and Pro Amateur all the way to Pro in less than a year, proving herself no shrinking violet. The two are already becoming favorites to make it to the 92__nd__ annual Grand Prix. Racing fanatics are hoping for a team up. If the two Racers comply, they could be the first husband and wife team in over two decades … _And then it starts talking about Richard and Mary Parker."

"Didn't they get divorced?" asked Speed.

"Um … yeah," I said, skimming through the rest of the article. Their divorce happened soon after Richard won the Grand Prix.

Oh, _that's _a great story.

I handed the paper back to Mom Racer. She folded it and said, "I'm going to frame this up and put it up in your room, Trixie."

"Thank you, Mrs. Racer," I said. I wasn't going to tell her I _really_ rather not have it there. It made me uneasy. Speed, on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, was totally fine and eating happily.

That night, at around two in the morning, I woke up from my slumber, rather thirsty, I felt for my doorknob in the dark, turned it, and snuck out my room. As I past Spritle's room, I could hear him and Chim-Chim snoring peacefully. Thank God!

I went to the kitchen, flipped on the light switch, took a glass, poured myself some water from the tap, flipped the switch back off, and started walking back to my room. While walking past Mom and Pops' room, I bumped into somebody. Scared it was an intruder, I gasped, preparing to scream, but he grabbed me and put a hand over my mouth.

"Shh, Trixie!" whispered a familiar voice. "I want to listen!"

"Speed?!" I asked, speech muffled behind his hand. He let me go and explained, "I heard my name. I think they're talking about us." He put his ear up to the door.

"Damn it!" he mumbled. "I can hardly hear anything!" I looked down to my quarter-full glass. I drank the last bit of water and handed it to him, "Here."

"Thanks," he said. He placed it up to the door and put his ear on the other side. Moments later he snorted, "Ridiculous."

"What?" I whispered. "What are they saying?" He pointed at the glass and said, "Listen for yourself."

I kneeled by the door and put my ear up to the glass. Mom and Pops were arguing … very rationally, I might add. When I was a kid, and still at home, my parents _never_ argued rationally. There was always yelling.

"Come on, honey, give him a little more credit than that," said Pops.

"You know how competitive Speedy gets!" she retorted. "What if she starts winning and he gets jealous? What if she loses and he starts thinking less of her because she's not as good as he is?" She paused and sighed, "I just don't think any of it is a good idea."

I lifted my head from the glass. I held it tightly and removed it from the door. My head flew directly to Speed. I could barely see him in the darkness. To him I said, with less conviction than I was gunning for, "You're right. Totally ridiculous."

It _wasn't_ ridiculous. If anything could tear me and Speed apart, it was racing. After all, in high school, I was voted "Most Likely to Get Dumped for a Race Car."

He sensed my worry, I think, because he touched his lips to the top of my head and held me close. He began to say, "Trixie, I …"

But then I started to cry.

I didn't want to, but I did. The tears hit his chest. Gently he put his hands on either side of my face to stare into my eyes. He wiped the tears with his thumb. "Hey, bright eyes, don't do that. We'll be alright. We're Speed and Trixie!"

"I know," I said, nodding. I threw my arms around his waist, holding him tightly, like if I loosened my grip, he would slip through my fingers like sand. Pushing him into my body, hoping maybe we would blend together and then I wouldn't have to ever worry about parting from him again.

There were nights where I didn't want to go to sleep. Instead, I wanted to stay up and live that day for the rest of my life. The day Speed kissed me at the Grand Prix was one of those. But, as much as I didn't want to, I always fell asleep and started a new day when I woke up.

That night, all I wanted to do was sleep. I wanted to sleep and store that conversation between Mom and Pops so far in my mind that I wouldn't be sure if it was a dream or not when I awoke. I wanted a new day to start right on the spot. But all I could do was think about what Mom Racer had prophesized

I never got to sleep.


	5. Early Start, Late Finish

**_Early Start, Late Finish_**

The day before the start of the Survivor Series left me with so many butterflies in my stomach, I thought I'd never get to sleep, but I did … at 4 AM.

"Trixie!" called a voice in the distance. "Trixie, wake up!"

Still half-asleep, I opened my eyes and saw Speed's smiling face looking back at me. He was almost _glowing_. His eyes were perhaps two shades lighter than usual. I swear; he looked like a kid on Christmas.

"What?" asked I groggily. I really hadn't wanted to be awoken. I was having the most wonderfully cruel dream where he'd lost the keys to the trunk of the Mach 5 with Spritle and Chim-Chim still inside …

"Today's the first race of the Survivor Series!" he exclaimed. I glanced at the clock. It read 8:00 AM. It had been four hours?! It felt like ten minutes!

"Mom told me to get you for breakfast," he continued.

"Okay, you go down, I'll be right behind you," I said. He followed my instruction, bolting down the stairs like the Roadrunner.

"Someone needs to limit that boy's caffeine intake," I muttered to myself. I threw the covers off the bed and changed from my pajamas to a pink shirt and white pants. I smoothed my hair down with a brush and placed a little heart pin on the right side. Then I went downstairs.

I really wasn't in the mood to eat. Every time I even thought of food, I became nauseous. But Mom Racer wouldn't have that. She insisted, "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I won't have you two driving on empty stomachs," as she placed a plate of waffles in front of each of us.

Speed seemed not to be nervous at all or, if he was, he'd become a master at hiding it. He was happily eating his waffles and drinking his milk.

"How are you two feeling?" asked Pops. "Rearing to go?"

"You know it!" said Speed.

"For sure," I added, knowing that was what he wanted to hear. I wanted to still be in bed.

Seeing that I had barely touched my waffles, Mom Racer pointed a spatula at me and demanded, "Eat!"

I looked down at my plate and saw a furry arm reaching a fork to it. My eyes widened. I looked up at Chim-Chim, who was smiling innocently and took the _pepper _shaker—at _breakfast_—to explain his lunging movement across the table.

I frowned, still so upset at having to leave the alternate reality of that dream.

"They're all laughing at me, I know it," said Speed as we walked onto the red and white checkered line of the Fuji track. Truth be told, I wasn't looking forward to racing over and around a volcano that could erupt at any second.

"They're not laughing at you," I assured him.

"If you say so."

Speed had something to prove at Fuji. Last year, he'd rejected the offer of one E.P. Arnold Royalton. He'd tried to bribe Speed away from Racer Motors with 'I still feel as independent as ever' mumbo-jumbo and purple suits. I wished he'd kept that suit. He looked really good in it.

But I digress. Speed rejected him, and that was when he learned how corrupt racing had become. Royalton promised him he'd never finish the track at Fuji, and he was right. Speed blew up. Thank God for the Kwiksave bubbles; or I might have had a heart attack.

That race, as I watched him pull his yellow gloves over his hands, I saw a determination in his eyes. Nobody was going to stop him … or laugh at him, as his train of thought might have been.

"Speed Racer," said a voice.

We turned around, only to find Taejo Togokahn, the second … okay, maybe third, to last person we _ever_ wanted to see again. He'd used us to up his family company's stock in the Casa Cristo, and then let Royalton buy them out. But then he later testified against him.

"You have a lot of nerve coming over here," I said.

"You don't understand," said Togokahn. "I have come to apologize to you both. I realize my actions were totally unacceptable."

"Well, I guess it all worked out in the end, so—no way!" Speed shouted.

"What?!" asked I. He pointed at another car, "Look what the spearhook dragged in."

"It can't be!" I said. But it was. Somehow, Cannonball Taylor was on the track with us today.

Nobody, beside Royalton, had lost more when Speed won the Grand Prix than one Jack "Cannonball" Taylor. Now, in no way was any of it Speed's fault. Cannonball was racing in the Royalton GRX, which had a spearhook installed in it. When he saw that Speed was a contender, he decided to use it. But Speed, ever the clever, used his jumping jacks to show the cameras the illegal weapon. Cannonball lost a spot in the hall of fame for it.

"Who would even sponsor him now?" asked I, even though I knew Speed had no answer.

"He's racing for Rival," said another voice. It was the deep speech of Racer X.

"Rival?" asked Speed. "Jack Rival? He's one of the dirtiest. I've heard he'll kill a driver that stands in his way."

"Sounds like just the type for Cannonball," I snorted. I turned to Racer X, "Is that what you're here for?"

"That's part of it, most definitely."

"_All drivers to your cars._"

"We must go," said Racer X before sauntering over to the yellow and black Shooting Star. "Good luck." I always felt there was a silent 'you'll need it' directed at me at the end of that sentence.

"Good luck," said Taejo. He strutted back over to his car, the red and black Hangul.

"I'm still gonna Sweet Spin him," I told Speed.

"Give him one from me," he said.

I slipped into the TRX-1. It was a beautiful pink car with checkered black pattern on the back. It perfectly matched my helicopter. The number 7 was emblazoned on the hood and the sides.

_Always one place behind Speed, Trix_, I thought for a moment. Then I shook my head, _don't be silly. It's just the seventh car Pops has built._

"_3…" _the countdown was starting again.

"_2…_" Now that I had mastered the starter boost, I hit the accelerator.

"_1… GO!_"

The Fuji track starts out in two paths. I veered to the right, Speed went left. The only driver on the path with me—right in front of me—was Taejo. I sped up closer to him.

"This one's from Speed Racer," I whispered. I pressed a button on my dashboard and Sweet Span him. The Hangul tumbled behind me.

The two paths came back together. The Mach 6 came up next to me. Speed looked behind my car for a second and asked, "You totally did it, didn't you?"

"I said I would," I chuckled. I got caught in another half-pipe and did a 540 turn back onto the track. People actually started cheering. I drifted perfectly through a turn, and the crowd went crazy.

"Looks like you have fans," said Speed. But that wasn't possible! I didn't _get_ fans. I had that lack of charisma. We sped through the tunnel and jumped over the lava.

"Don't fall, don't fall, don't fall," I chanted at the TRX-1 as I took off the ramp. I _really_ didn't want third-degree burns. They _so_ weren't in fashion that season.

Soon, we came up on the start to run the third and final course of the race. I was ready to pull back into the right lane, until Snake Oiler rammed me into the divider between the two paths. I pushed the accelerator on my car, but it didn't help, I was stuck.

Man, I _hated _that guy! During the Casa Cristo while I was subbing for Taejo, he basically tried to take my head off with his back tire! Granted, he didn't know it was me. Speed retaliated by doing the same to Snake. I thought that was so romantic, but it didn't really hit me as such until I was back safe in the TRX helicopter.

Speed drove by, a worried look on his face. He reached his hand out to me, like he thought it would do some good, and yelled, "Trixie!!"

"Oh, come on, baby," I said to the car. "Don't do this! Momma needs you." I pushed everything I thought would get me out of this bind, but it was starting to look hopeless. I was trapped. The crowd was murmuring.

"_And Trixie Shimura is stuck, caught between Fuji's two paths! This could be the end of her_," said a racetrack announcer. I couldn't help but notice he said my real last name.

Finally, I pushed the jump jack button. I took to the air and landed on the start line.

"Alright, now I'm only about 10 miles behind," I snorted to myself. I glanced at the boost bar. It was blue, signaling that I could go into the Zone. I'd never done it before, but anything was worth a try now. I pushed the boost button.

"_And she's back in it!!_" yelled the announcer.

The track became just a blur as I said at 424 miles per hour. I wasn't _meant_ to travel at such breakneck speed, I had thought. The highest I'd ever reach was 370! I sped past the Hangul just before the boost bar ran out.

"Trixie?!" asked Speed, the Mach 6 steady right in front of me, "are you okay."

"I'm fine," I replied. We all ran across the finish line. Speed and I had finished fourth and fifth, above only Togokahn.

"_And the winner is … Racer X!_"

I sighed while getting out of the TRX-1. Some of the pink paint was scratched. The right side was dented.

"Damn Snake Oiler," I muttered.

Late that night, I was staring at the ceiling with the lights off when Speed came into my room.

"Are you asleep?"

"No," I whispered.

"Then why don't we take the Mach 5 and go to Inspiration Point."

"I don't know …" I said. "It's pretty late…" But he took my arm, dragged me to the garage, got into the car, and turned the key in the ignition.

"Who am I to say no?" I asked rhetorically.

"Why did you suddenly decide on this?" asked I as we sat among the budding trees. He shrugged, "I don't know. You've just been looking so bummed out since the race."

"I'm sorry," I told him. "I got you all worried and you lost the lead. It's all my fault you didn't win."

"Don't even think that," he said. "There's still a lot of the Survivor Series left to go." He put a hand on my cheek, "We'll make a comeback. And at least I didn't blow up this time."

"Since when do you know the perfect thing to say?" I asked.

"I'm learning."

"And here I thought you were a lost cause."

We stared at one another, until a noise broke the silence. It was low and gravelly

"Is something wrong with the engine?" I asked.

"No, that doesn't sound like an engine," said Speed. "It sounds like … snoring." His eyes widened, "I'll be right back." He got out of the car and opened the trunk.

"Spritle, get up!"

"Psht, snort, WHAT?!" yelled the boy's voice.

"Who told you that you could sleep in my trunk?" asked Speed. I turned to watch them. Spritle was staring at the new surroundings.

"Who told _you_ to drive off in our clubhouse?" he asked. I couldn't _see_ Chim-Chim, but anywhere Spritle was, I was sure he wasn't too far.

"Club—you know what, never mind," said Speed. "Go back to sleep." He slammed the trunk shut.

"Well then what did you wake us up for?!" asked Spritle's muffled voice. Speed flopped back into the driver's seat and sucked on his bottom lip.

"We have to go home?"

"Yeah," he replied. "All the good intentions in the world can't save us from the kid and the monkey."

"I heard that!" yelled Spritle. Speed gritted his teeth. I gave him a silent, small kiss on the cheek.

"Cootie shot!" cried the boy.

Speed merely shook his head and drove off.


	6. Familiar Much?

**_Familiar Much?_**

The next course of the Survivor Series was at Kirikala and now _I _had something to prove. Namely that I deserved my Pro title. I woke up at six in the morning and paced around my room. I stopped for a moment to chastise myself, but before I could get any words out, I realized I still heard pacing.

"Speed?" I whispered. Did that kid ever sleep? Or did he just have long-life batteries? I skipped over to his room and opened the door. It creaked.

"HUH?!" he shouted. He stuck a defensive pose. He was still in his pajamas, the white t-shirt and those blue sweatpants. His hair was matted and all over his face. Then he saw it was me and let his guard down. "Oh, Trix," he said. "Don't sneak up on me like that. You're up?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "How long have you been up?"

"About an hour," he replied. "But what's eating you?"

"I'm scared," I confessed. "If I screw up again, I'm not going to make it to the Pro Tour. And I'm not ready to stop yet." He moseyed over to me and put his firm hands on my shoulders. "Today's gonna go great," he predicted. "You'll see."

I playfully stroked his hair, pulling his bangs into his face. I advised, "You should wear your hair like this outside. It looks all rebellious."

"Oh yeah," he said sarcastically. "Because I'm bad to the bone."

I gave him a quick kiss on the lips and walked away. Before I got out of the doorway, I looked back and said, "You always know how to make me feel better."

Bewildered as to what exactly he did, Speed called after me, "Anytime?"

"You're stressing yourself out," he said at breakfast that morning after I knocked over the sugar saucer.

"Sorry," I said softly to Mom Racer. I got under the table and repeated it, "Sorry." I picked up the cup, swept the sugar off the floor with my hands, poured it into the trash bin, put the cup in the sink, and started washing it out.

"You'll be great, Trixie," said Speed. "You know you are."

"That's easy for you to say," I snorted from the sink. "Everyone loves you. Everyone _knows_ you can do it. You won the Grand Prix, Speed. You've proven yourself. Whatever you do, people will think you're great. Me … I mess up and people think the past year was one whole big fluke."

"Trixie, not many drivers _can_ make it from Amateur to Pro in a year," Speed said. "You've proved yourself just fine."

"Yeah, okay," I sighed. He got up from the table to get a mug from the counter. He past me, still rubbing soap off the sugar saucer, and warned, "You might want to lay off that thing. I think you took some of the finish off. I placed it on the counter and gave him a playful push, "Oh, Speed Racer, you are just the worst." We took our places back at the table.

"You're gonna shine today, baby," I said to the TRX-1 as I rolled it onto the start line. "Nobody's gonna stop us."

This was a signal to me that I'd been around Speed _way_ too long. He was good for talking to his car. I once asked him why, and he replied, "Because the car is a living, breathing thing." I didn't understand it then, but once I got the TRX-1, I guess my line of thought changed. She _was_, by all means, my baby.

I parked her on the green and white checkered start line. The track was full of candy colors and archways that looked like ice cream scoops with cherries on them. I could see Togokahn from my rearview mirror. I snorted. At least I did _one_ thing right at Fuji.

"Hi, Trix," said a friendly voice. Speed gave me a wave.

"Hey, handsome," I said. "Is the Mach 6 all parked and ready to go?"

"You know it," he replied. He put a hand on the TRX-1, "And how's this little beauty?"

"Are you talking about me or the car?"

"You, of course," he said after a brief pause.

"Yah-huh," I snorted. "We're _both_ rearing to go."

"Speed, Trixie," said the deep, droning, unmistakable voice of Racer X. Speed and I turned around quickly. I looked up. He seemed to look more intimidating than usual. At least … I _think_ he was. It was so hard to tell when all you could see was his mouth …

"X," Speed bade him.

"I just wanted to tell you how disappointed I was with both of your performances yesterday," said Racer X, not even returning the hello.

"Isn't everyone entitled to an off day?" asked Speed.

"Not in this sport," said X frankly. "I expected better. Especially from you, Speed." His head moved down. I only thought he was staring at me, until he said the worst thing I could have ever imagined, not even with a hint of tact.

"Maybe you should keep the girlfriend at home."

"What is that supposed to mean!?" I yelled indignantly.

"You distract each other," he explained his reasoning. "Each of you is so concerned about the other you don't concentrate on yourselves."

I couldn't believe it! He was criticizing us for caring about one another!

"Trixie's a great driver, X," retorted Speed. "You know it. You've _seen _it."

"I also saw Snake Oiler almost cut her head off with a tire at Casa Cristo," he pointed out. "What would she have done without you there?"

You make _one_ mistake, and you get it thrown in your face for the rest of your life! I had a great line in that rally! Sparky said so! Oh, God, am I using Sparky as a reference? I'm _really_ desperate.

"Trixie made her way to Pro, fair and square," said Speed. "She deserves to be here as much as you and I … or any _other_ driver here does."

"Let's see you both _drive _like it," X drawled. And without another word he meandered back to the Shooting Star.

I sank a little lower into my seat, muttering, "Why is he always so … _so?_"

"We've been around X before," Speed said. "You know how 'matter-of-fact' he is. He doesn't like to wrap things up with a pretty bow."

"No wonder Taejo wanted to get in his face after the whole poison thing," I mumbled. Back in Casa Cristo, Taejo had been drugged by ninjas (I know it sounds a little stupid, but it was what happened) and Racer X said it like it was: "You can't drive a race car; you can barely stand." That's how I ended up driving in his place. But there was a big difference between what X had said then and what he'd just told us.

I was perfectly able to drive my car, and I'd show him that.

"_All drivers to your cars,_" said the monotone voice of the PA.

"I'll see you at the finish line," said Speed.

"I'd say good luck, but we all know you don't need it," I responded. He grinned and started back to the Mach 6. I stared forward to the Shooting Star, thinking, _And no matter what you think Mr. Harbinger of Boom, neither do I_.

The countdown began: _"3 …"_

I tapped my foot up and down on the petal on the TRX-1.

"_2…"_

I hit the accelerator.

"_1! GO!"_

I pounded my foot on the petal and took off. Speed and I whisked past Snake Oiler.

"_And Speed Racer and Trixie Shimura cut right in front of Snake Oiler!" _said the track announcer's omniscient voice. "_I'll bet he didn't see THAT one coming!" _

The Shooting Star and the GRX were the only cars standing between one of us and the lead. Speed looked at Cannonball Taylor.

"Welcome to Speed Racer's Driver's Ed course," he said. "I see you enjoyed my last tutorial so much at the Grand Prix that you've come back for more. Today's lesson: Car-Fu is your friend!"

He Sweet Span him.

"That'll be 90 dollars please!!" yelled Speed as the Royalton GRX tumbled behind him. "I'll send you the bill in the mail!!"

"Don't let Sparky write your shtick," I warned him.

"Sparky?" he asked. "But that was all me!"

"Really?" I asked. "Well … then … don't quit your day job, Speed Demon." I looked away from the Mach 6 and back to the Shooting Star.

"I'll see you later," I said. "I've got some unfinished business to attend to." I hit the petal harder and rushed in front of him.

"_Trixie Shimura, starting out in fifth place, now nearing the lead as she comes up on the Shooting Star!_" said one announcer.

"_Can she take the Harbinger of Boom?!"_ asked another.

"We'll see," I whispered to myself. I veered sideways until Racer X and I were right beside each other.

"_They're neck and neck!!_" yelled the first announcer.

Somehow, I could tell what his evasion was. He rammed the side of the TRX-1 and drove off to the left, attempting to leave me in the dust. But I knew how to come back from it. Speed did that to me in practice all the time. That was when it occurred to me …

He drove _just _like Speed … but a more _experienced _Speed. If I could go into the future and see Speed race, surely it would have looked just like Racer X now. And Speed learned everything he knew about driving from …

"Rex?" whispered I. I sped back up to the Shooting Star and stared at him. I don't know why. There was no way I could have seen his face. He noticed my presence again.

"Hi there, remember me?" asked I. Racer X gave me a smile that implied shock and slight amusement.

The smug bastard.

I rammed the side of the Shooting Star three times and cut him off on the turn.

"_Trixie Shimura just survived a tangle with the Harbinger of Boom!_" yelled an announcer. I couldn't tell which one anymore.

The crowd went wild. "TRIX–IE! TRIX–IE! TRIX–IE!"

My car rushed onto the finish line, with Speed just behind.

"She just …" Mom Racer said in the stands, breathless.

"Placed in front of Speed," said Spritle unsurely.

"_And the winner of the Second Course of the Survivor Series is TRIXIE SHIMURA!"_

I could care less. All I knew was I'd just shown Racer X that I wasn't just 'the girlfriend.' I was a driver. It took a few moments for me to actually realize they'd said my name. I looked around bewildered, "Huh?"

A reporter came up to me, looked at the checkerboard on my car and asked, "Trixie, how would you like to be called the Pink Queen, like in chess!"

"Yeah, okay." I laughed.

Speed jumped out the Mach 6 and gave me a hug, "You won! You won it, Trixie!!" He took me in his arms and spun me through the air.

"I'm so proud of you!!" he yelled. I grasped my arms tightly around his neck, "Oh, Speed!!"

As we put away dinner dishes together, I asked Speed, "You remember telling me that theory last year? The one about Racer X?"

"What, the one about him being Rex?" he asked.

"Yes."

"He's not," he said, a tone of disappointment vaguely in his voice.

"Oh," I said, regretting the whole conversation. "I just—when I was driving against him today he—his—he reminded me of you. You drive so much alike; it was sort of eerie."

"He's not Rex," Speed said simply. "I've seen his face. He—he—he's not." He put down his last dish, gave me a kiss on the cheek, said, "Good night," and went back to his room.

Lying in my bed, I realized how insensitive asking him that really was. His brother was dead and he thought for a moment he might still be alive. Then his dream got crushed, and _I_ brought it all up again.

I took my pillow, tugged at it, and pressed it over my face as I shouted, "I'm the worst girlfriend _EVER!!_"


	7. Power Couples

**_Power Couples_**

Speed and I performed impeccably at the last track of the Survivor Series, Zunubia. It was a beautiful raceway. We drove among the trees and through neon tunnels. Speed finished first, and I was a close second. Close as in a fraction of a second. Depressing, just a bit.

Because of our abnormally bad performance at Fuji, Speed and I placed second and third for the cup, respectively. But that still meant we were going on to the Pro Tour, and in the end that was all I wanted.

And yet, I got even more than that!

As Speed and I started passing through the Pro Tour with flying colors—_literally_—everybody suddenly wanted to know about the Pink Queen; this talent that had stayed hidden so long and lived to tell the tale of Tangoing with Racer X.

Stores had displays of pink and black clothes in their windows. My hairdresser told me he'd gotten a bunch of women who requested the "Trixie Bob Cut." Annville Elementary School, where Speed and I had gone as children called and asked me to speak to the kids. The woman on the other end even said, "And if you want to bring Speed Racer along, that would be nice, too."

_The Racing Chronicle_ did a story on me called: "She has a Need for SPEED!" I think it was supposed to be some kind of pun. Somewhere in the middle it mentioned my "family."

"_Shimura, despite driving for Racer Motors, is the daughter of Mike Shimura, owner of Shimura Motors and Aviation. He now resides, and operates, in an undisclosed location. All attempts to reach Mr. Shimura have been futile. We received one message from a receptionist that said 'Mr. Shimura wishes not to speak about Patricia, their relationship, her romance with Speed Racer, or her current driving sponsor.'"_

I really wished they hadn't tried that. They didn't tell me they were going to try to reach my father before they asked if they could do the article. Just as well. I thought he just would have snarled "No comment," or, "I no longer _have_ a daughter" and hung up. Then the story would have just turned into "The Pink Queen's Fall Out with her Royal Family."

"I'm sure, deep down, he's proud of you," said Speed as he read the article.

"You mean so deep he doesn't know it himself?" I asked, fingering through that morning's newspaper. "Yeah. I know."

"He probably just doesn't want to publicize Team Go," Speed reasoned. "I bet he really misses you."

"Sure," I whispered skeptically.

--

I knew he was going to be mad when I came back after that weekend; after telling him I was associating with the son of a rival company. And I was right.

"Don't you care about our reputation?" he asked.

"No, actually," I replied. "I don't."

Momma gasped.

"And why not?!"

"Because I care about Speed," I said. "You saw what happened to his brother! He needs me! He told me so!"

"I don't want you to ever see that boy again," said Dad.

"Just try to stop me!" I yelled. "You can't tell me what to do anymore!"

"Mon Dieu! La entêté gamin! La petit garnement!" he stomped around screaming. He was yelling in FRENCH!! But then again, he met my mother in France …

Something about my father hating Speed made him even more appealing to me. It made our love feel more … Shakespearean. And, of course, I _didn't_ stop hanging out with him.

It took little less than four days for my father to finally get sick of my rebellion. It was sort of unexpected. I mean, aren't your parents supposed to love you no matter what? Aren't they supposed to see your side? Even _glance_ at it? I knew that's what Speed had with the Racers.

But my father was no Pops Racer, and that I knew when I saw a pink suitcase on my bed. Dad was towering over it, throwing things inside.

"What are you doing?" I asked, putting my backpack on the floor. I went over and tried to pull him off, "Stop that!"

"As long as you live under this roof, I _can_ tell you what to do," said Dad. "So if you want to keep seeing that boy, get out."

"Mike, stop this nonsense!" yelled Momma. "Let her see whoever she wants! She's only a teenager! It'll probably be over in a month!"

"Then she can come back."

"You're kicking me out?" I asked.

"It's your choice, Patricia," said Dad. "You can stay with us and the family business, or you can keep that boy and turn your back on everything you have here."

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and looked to Momma, "I'm sorry. I'll miss you."

"Patricia!" she shrieked.

"He needs me."

"Let's see how much he _'needs'_ you when you have nothing!" he shouted into my ear. "How much he _needs_ you when you have nowhere to go!"

I walked over to the suitcase and closed it. "I choose him, okay?" I picked up a set of keys and threw it at him. "And you can keep your Mercedes and everything else. I don't want _anything_ that's been worked on by _you_."

He clenched the keys in his hand, sauntered over to me, and grabbed me by the collar.

"Let me go!" I shouted.

"After all I did for you?" he asked. "_This _is how you thank me? You ungrateful BRAT!"

And he slapped me across the face.

"MIKE!!" screeched Momma

I'd no idea my father could be so … _violent!_ He'd never even spanked me before. He never touched my mom. But there I was, eyes widened, feeling my cheek throb. That same cheek that Speed kissed when he was teaching me to drive.

I pushed past Dad, picked up my backpack, and started out my door. Momma blocked it, begging, "Patricia, don't do this!"

"I love you, Momma," I whispered. "But, please, let me go." I could feel tears coming and I didn't want Dad to see them.

"NO!" she wept. Then she crumbled and started crying. When she put her hands to her face to wipe away the tears, I knew I could no longer hold mine, and so I ran out the door.

"PATRICIA!!" yelped Momma.

"Let her go," said Dad. "She made her decision."

I took off out the front gate, running as fast as I could; leaving my parents and everything else that had once meant so much to me behind.

Speed was never told this story.

--

I wiped a single tear from my face and went back to my paper. I looked to the sports page. On the front was an old picture of us from the Grand Prix last year and one of Cannonball Taylor and Kellie Kalinkov.

"POWER COUPLES TO SQUARE OFF AT KIRKALA" it said over our heads.

"HUH?!" I shouted.

"What is it?!" yelled Speed, shutting _The Racing Chronicle_.

"Cannonball Taylor's back in it!" I yelled. "I thought we were done with him!" I let the newspaper slip out of my hand onto the table. Speed grabbed it. He glanced at the picture and asked, "Cannonball and Kalinkov?"

"When did they even become an item?!" asked I.

"Probably when Jack Rival discovered that couples make great publicity," concluded Speed. "I mean, when you first got on the track, no one could open a paper without seeing our picture every day."

"True," I replied. "And it's not like they're two people who wouldn't _love _to steal the spotlight from us."

Kellie Kalinkov was considered the best female driver in the WRL, until _I _came along. During my first race as an amateur, she decided she was going to indirectly pay Speed back for Spinning her off the track at the Grand Prix last year. To her dismay, I kicked her ass and won the race. She now _hated _me.

Speed cleared his throat and started to read from the paper, "_Young Speed Racer, the Demon on Wheels, and his girlfriend Trixie Shimura, the Pink Queen, are the latest couple to have made a splash in the WRL. Tomorrow the two will face racing's OTHER power couple, Jack 'Cannonball' Taylor and Kellie Kalinkov on the last course of the Pro Tour at Kirikala. _

"_Both Taylor and Kalinkov have lost to Racer and Shimura before on the track, so one must ask if they can manage to make it go differently this time. …_"

I stifled a laugh.

"Well," Speed said, folding the paper and placing it in the center of the table, "At least we know who will be trying to mash us into cans tomorrow _before_hand."

--**_Author's Note_**: _I know, Trixie's origin story is a bit dark, but I'm so tired of that one dimensional "Hi, I'm Trixie! I fly a helicopter! No one knows where I live! I just always hang out with the Racers! I can do great math! I love pink! I love Speed!" nature all shows/movies ... and even the comics... give her character_**.--**


	8. Double Date on the Track

**_Double Date on the Track_**

I opened my eyes … unfortunately. The sky was a shade of teal that suggested that it was early morning, but the sun wasn't up yet.

"I should ask Mom and Pops if I can keep a coffee machine in my room," I said to myself. I rubbed my eyes, yawned, and touched my feet to the floor. I cracked my neck, skipped to my door, turned the knob, and tip-toed to Speed's room.

"Speed?" asked I softly. I opened his door and looked around. "Speed, are you up?" No one was there, but I continued to glance about.

"What are we looking at?" asked a voice.

"AHHHH!!" I screamed. I turned around. Heart racing, I breathed heavily in Speed's direction, "Where were you?"

"I snuck down to the kitchen to have a muffin," he replied.

"Muffin?"

"Well, Spritle always takes the blueberry muffins and leaves me with the corn muffins and I _hate_ the corn muffins and …!"

"God, I wish I could be like you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"It's almost been a year and every time I wake up for a race I feel like I'm stuck in the peak of a ramp jump and there's no way down," I explained. "All you're worried about is muffins."

"I like muffins," he muttered under his breath. To me he said, "That feeling is _going_ to go away." I gave him a coy stare and stared into his eyes, "Is _this _feeling going to go away?"

"I sure hope not," he smiled. We leaned into a kiss. He brushed a piece of my hair behind my ear and whispered, "Trixie, I—"

"Hey, Speed, if Mrs. Watersratt asked us to come back to Annville and talk to the kids, would you like to go?" I inquired.

"Waterstratt?" he asked. "Annville? Trixie, you know how much I hated that place!"

"Well, it's not like they're going to ask you to do math or anything," I said. I bounced up and down and begged, "Plee-ease? Come on, just think about it. That's the place that brought us together."

Speed shifted his mouth from side to side. "Alright, I'll think about it," he seceded. "But let's get this straight, it's for you and the kids … not for Watersratt."

Speed hated our third grade teacher but, then again, she wasn't very fond of him, either. The very idea that he'd _think_ about seeing her again made me remember all over how lucky I was in love.

But would I be so lucky on track?

The index finger of my left hand was dancing on the hood of the TRX-1, which was parked at the green and white start line of the third Kirikala track. Ironically, we had never raced on the second before. This track, however, was much more modern than that of Kirikala 1. There were skyscrapers everywhere. The track itself was held out of the water by metal bracing.

Speed and I stood side by side, staring at Cannonball and Kellie.

"Do you really think we can beat them again?" I asked Speed.

"Why not?" he asked in return. "We've done it before. Don't sweat them, Trixie. We've got at least one thing they don't."

I glanced up at him, "And that is?"

"A real relationship," he said. "Trixie, I've been trying to tell you all this time—"

"_All drivers to your cars!_" yelled the ever-more annoying PA. "_All drivers to your cars._"

Speed whispered something that sounded a lot like, "Damn it."

"Give me a nice big hug when I get to the finish line, okay?" I asked.

"You got it, Trix," he responded. I watched him climb into the Mach 6 and smiled behind him. Once he was in the car, I could clearly see Kellie Kalinkov. She stared at me as I jumped into the TRX-1. Her eyes seemed to ask, "Are you ready."

I glared, "Ready as hell."

"_3 …_"

_Focus_, I thought.

"_2 …"_

_There is nothing but you, your car, and the finish line_, I lectured myself as I hit the accelerator.

"1! … GO!"

"And rubber to burn!" I yelled aloud. Immediately I felt something ram the side of the TRX-1.

It was Kellie. She laughed at me, "Hi there. _Amateur_."

"_Has-been_!" I screamed. I pressed the A button on my steering wheel. The jumping jacks emerged from my car. I flew into the air and rolled back onto the track. My head bobbed up and down a little. I let out a deep breath and looked to my right.

I was next to Kellie again.

"Great," I sighed. A neon light trail was on the right side of the track, pointing forward. Kellie and I turned in unison to avoid scraping the other side. We rode into a tunnel; I was on the ceiling and Kellie was on the ground.

"Kalinkov!!" I yelled. I pressed the jumping jacks again and landed on the ground. I was finally in front of her. She screamed, "Not _again!_"

Suddenly, the GRX tumbled past us. Kellie gasped.

"_Oooh, that's GOTTA hurt!" _yelled an announcer. "_Speed Racer just crushed Cannonball Taylor!"_

"_Again," _added the second.

"Way to go, Speedy," I whispered. The ramp was just ahead. I stomped on the gas and looked up to the sky over my head. For a moment I reminisced on flying in my helicopter. That was, until I saw Kellie and the Matryoshka rolling over my head.

I landed on the other side of the ramp and hit the boost button. She slipped further and further behind me. Letting out a sigh of relief, I looked in front of me. There was only Speed and Snake Oiler.

"Caught between the little turd and his girlfriend," he muttered. I pouted as I tried to catch up to him. The finish line was already in sight, even though it was rather small from where I was. It was obvious Speed was going to get there first, and I _wasn't_ going to be third.

I gave Snake Oiler a death glare as I came up beside him. We rivaled one another to stay ahead, until …

Flames were all around me. At first I thought it was my hate igniting the track, but it soon became obvious that things were not so simple. I immediately pressed the B button. A dome closed over my head.

_Thank you, Pops Racer_, I thought.The TRX-1 twisted around and hit the sides of the track more times than I could count. I couldn't see a thing, but there was only one thing I was looking for: a Kiwksave bubble … maybe two.

But it never came.

"Oh, no!" I shouted.

I had only seen a person die once before. I was over at Speed's house watching the Casa Cristo on TV the night Rex Racer crashed. I hoped to never watch something like that again, especially not up close.

Snake Oiler was not the nicest guy in the world. He dealt with race fixers and hurled snakes at people. He tried to put tire burn on my face. His nickname for Speed was 'Punk.' But he didn't deserve to _die_. Not like that. I couldn't watch … but I couldn't look away, either. I couldn't even blink. The flames grew and went higher.

"_And there's been an explosion!_" called the announcer. "_And not a Kwiksave to be seen! Call in the rescue crews!_"

"_Only two cars seem to be missing from the track,_" added the second announcer. "_Snake Oiler and Trixie Shimura._"

"TRIX-IEEEEEEE!!" screamed a voice I knew all too well. "NOOOOO!!"

I turned the steering wheel with as much force as I could until my car was facing forward. Then I pounded through the flames to the finish. I zigzagged and hit the sides three times before I stopped. I imagine I looked rather like a pinball.

"_And Trixie Shimura has emerged from the crash!"_ yelled the announcer. The crowd went wild.

I turned around in place for a full minute, I think, before I stopped and looked in front of me. There was Speed, standing on the finish line, helmet on the ground next to him. Silent tears were streaming down his face.

"Trix …" he whispered. "I—I—I—" He ran over to my car, put his hands on the hood, and stood there, weeping silently. I took off my helmet, unstrapped my seatbelt, slipped out of the car, and took him in my arms.

"It's okay, Speed. I'm here. It's okay," I whispered. We touched foreheads. He kissed me, over and over, on the lips, the cheek, the forehead, the _hair _everywhere on my head he could get to. He'd never done anything like that before. I guess he was just so happy to see I was okay.

Mom and Pops were in the audience; sharing mutual 'Thank God,' glances at one another. Spritle and Chim-Chim were holding each other, sharing tears of joy for my safety (at least … I _hope _they were from joy; knowing _those_ two they might have been disappointment). The audience watched Speed and me in one of our most tender moments. The rescue team rushed to find out what I already knew.

Snake Oiler was dead.


	9. Kung Fu Catfight

**_Kung-Fu Catfight_**

The next cup, the Infernal Series, was on hold until the WRL could figure out what happened to Snake Oiler that disabled his Kwiksave.

"I can tell you what happened," I whispered at lunch. "Jack Rival killed him." I cut a knife through a chicken finger, jabbed my fork into it, and munched on it angrily.

"Trixie, we don't know that," said Pops. "No one's proved anything."

"They don't _have_ to!" I shouted. "Speed, you said it yourself, 'he'll kill a driver that stands in his way!'"

"He would," Speed nodded to his father.

"Be that as it may," shouted Pops over us, "Don't go saying things like that outside the house. I've already had a lawsuit for IP infringement. Don't put slander on top of it, you two."

Speed and I sank into our seats. After he'd turned down Royalton and blown up at Fuji, there was some questioning over Pops' designs. Racer Motors was caught in litigations. That was when Speed, feeling guilty, decided to compete in the Casa Cristo rally.

"If I ever meet Rival, I'll shake him lifeless!" shouted Speed as he paced around the couch in the living room. I was lying on said couch, staring at the ceiling. Now that the Infernal Series was postponed, we really didn't know what to do with ourselves.

"Spee-d …" I began

"He could have killed you, Trixie!" he yelled. He stopped pacing. I, now feeling strange without the sound of his footsteps, sat upright and gazed at him.

"When I saw those flames," he muttered, "… and they said they couldn't find you … it all just felt like I was ten again and I'd lost someone who meant so much to me."

"Ohh, Spee-eed," I moaned. I pranced over to him and stroked his cheek with the back of my hand.

"It was the first time since the Crucible that I really thought you were in danger," he added. I cocked an eyebrow, a nervous reflex, "Are you trying to tell me you don't want me to race anymore?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm just … concerned. What if you're not so lucky next time?"

"No one in their right mind would try something _that_ drastic twice in the same racing season," I riposted.

The phone started to ring.

"Obviously, Rival's _not _in his right mind," Speed snorted. "One sec, I'm gonna go get the phone." He picked up the orange receiver and said, "Racer residence, Speed Racer speaking." Seconds later he pointed it in my direction, "It's for you, Trix."

"Thanks," I said. I took the receiver out of his hands and said, exasperated, "Hello, who is this?"

"Let Snake Oiler's fate be a lesson to you, Trixie Shimura!" said the menacing male voice on the other end. "And mirror Speed Racer's!"

He hung up. I stood with the phone in my hand, crushing it in my polished fingernails.

"Trixie?" asked Speed. "What's wrong?"

"Speed, I …" I said breathlessly, looking at everything but him, "I think I may have gotten in over my head … so far over that I don't think I can go back." I dropped the receiver and asked, "What do I do?"

"Go deeper," he replied. I took my eyes of the dial-tone-blaring receiver and locked them on Speed, "Will you go with me?"

"Every step of the way," he answered. I took his hand, "Why aren't all guys like you?"

"You've gotta catch us and train us while we're still young."

I took refuge in my room, head buried in my pillow, eyes closed so hard that I could see bursts of light. He hadn't even threatened _me_; he threatened Speed. _My_ Speed. He must have known that if anything happened to him, I'd die of a broken heart.

"He'd hit two birds with one stone," I grumbled. The pillow muffled it so much all I heard were nonsensical moans.

The phone started to ring again. I picked it up and screamed, "Leave me and my boyfriend the hell alone!!"

"Should I call back later?" asked a female voice.

"Hello?" I asked uncertainly.

"This is Rosey Blaze," said the voice. Rosey was another famous female driver in the league, but I had never competed against her in a race.

"May I speak to Trixie Shimura?" she asked.

"This is she," I replied.

"Oh, hello, Trixie," said Rosey. "We girls have been watching you and really think you're something. Some of us are going out to brunch; would you like to come?"

"Is Kellie Kalinkov going to be there?" I asked.

"Are you kidding me?" she grunted. "I _hate _her."

"Who _is_ going to be there?"

"Just a few of us," she responded vaguely. "So what do you say?"

I didn't have many female friends, and everyone at home seemed to want to treat me like a porcelain doll, so I decided, "Okay."

"Great!" she said. "We'll see you at five in the square."

"Oh—"

She hung up.

"—kay," I finished.

At four-thirty I started to get dressed. I put on a pair of red Capri pants, a pink shirt, and red ballet shoes. As I was pulling on my white gloves, Speed knocked on my door and asked, "Hey, Trix, do you want to go out?"

"Oh," I said regrettably, "Speed, I'm sorry, but I made some plans with a couple of other female racers."

"Oh," he replied, disappointed.

"I can cancel," I said. "I'd much rather go out with you anyway."

"No," he shook his head. "Have fun. We'll go out some other time." He awkwardly waved goodbye and shut my door. Watching it close, I moaned and kicked around in a circle, "WHY did that have to happen NOW!?"

I went down the steps and prepared to leave, but just as I went to turn the knob, there was a knock on the door. I answered it.

"Taejo?" I asked. "You must be here to see Speed."

"Actually," he declared, "I am here to talk to you."

"Oh?" No one came to visit _me_ at the Racer house! I mean, who _would? _What was going on?

"I'm _not_ apologizing for Sweet Spinning you," I said.

"Trixie, you must know that my father still is in alliance with companies such as those of Jack Rival," he explained, completely ignoring my comment.

I didn't say anything, but in my mind I gibed, _I would have never known_.

"But I am truly sorry for my actions," he continued, "and to show you this I will warn you, do _not_ go out today."

I probably should have taken notice to the fact that he knew I was going out and I hadn't told him, but excuse me for not rushing to trust the winner of last year's "Backstabber of the Year Award."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said. "Thank you, Taejo."

"Please do consider it," he stressed his point. "I am not the ally who is truly an enemy. … Not anymore."

He turned around and left the house. I kept the door open just a crack to watch him drive away in the Hangul. Once he was out of sight, I shook my head, re-opened the door, and left, thinking, _what harm could it do?_

I _really_ wish I hadn't asked that question.

By five o'clock I was jogging into the square. Rosey, Mariana Zanja, and Delila were sitting around a round table. Rosey spotted me, waved and shouted, "Trixie! Hey, Trixie, over here. Have a cup of tea!" I moseyed awkwardly to them and took a seat.

"Hello," said Delila.

"Hey there … Delila …" I muttered. I wasn't a big fan of Delila, what with her diamond tongue ring. She had tried to seduce Speed into distraction during the Casa Cristo and then, when it didn't work, blew out one of his tires! And she wore too much pink.

I know, I sound totally hypocritical, but she _did!_

"You've been making quite the name for yourself," said Mariana.

"Yeah, you took Speed Racer _down_ in the Survivor Series," added Rosey.

"_Someone_ needed to," snorted Delila.

"Speed's my boyfriend," I said, hoping it might remind them and make them shut up before I started throwing punches…

"Oh, yes, that's right …" said Mariana. "How long have you two been together?"

"Ummm…" I hesitated.

--

When we were about nine, I took Speed aside during recess and said in my sweetest voice, "Hi, Speed."

"Hi, Trixie," he replied. I batted my eyelashes a little and confessed, "I really like you." He, being a boy and not a bright one at that, didn't see where the conversation was going and merely said, "I like you, too, Trixie."

"Speed, will you be my boyfriend?!" asked I. He stayed silent for a moment or two, shifted his mouth from side to side, and then said, "Okay!"

"Oh, Speed!" I said happily. I threw my arms around him and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

Obviously, Speed really didn't have a comprehension of what the word 'boyfriend' meant, because as soon as my lips parted from his face he shouted "ICK!" and wiped it clear.

--

"A WHILE," I said. I took a sip from the teacup, put it down on the table, and looked into it. I smiled dreamily at my brown reflection, reminiscing. I muttered, "He—he means a lot to me. He's the best thing that's ever happened to me." I chuckled, "And vice versa, if I'm not being immodest."

Chairs clattered. Suddenly, I remembered Togokahn's warning: "I'm not the ally who is truly an enemy … not anymore." Trying to seem like I was still calm I looked forward. The three women were standing up.

"Ahh-ha," I said, taking another sip of the tea.

"It's nothing personal, honey," said Rosey. "It's just that Mr. Rival has found you to be … someone else say it; it'll be cliché coming from me…"

"You're a thorn in his side," Delila obliged.

I pushed the teacup away from me and pushed my chair away from the table. The three started over to me. I parted my legs and held them in front of me.

"Wai-wai-wai-wait!" I said. "It's story time! I'm going to tell you exactly how this is going to turn out." I put my legs back down and placed my hands in my lap, "In one minute and …" I glanced at a clock in the square, "twenty-seven seconds, this will be over. You all are going to crowd around me…"

They formed a triangle, surrounding my chair.

"See, it's already starting," I pointed to them all. My finger stopped at Rosey, "I'm going to jump in the air and drop kick _you_," I turned to Mariana, "I'm going to trip _you_," I lifted my other hand and pointed at Delila, "before I kick you in the face. Then I'll jump out of your demented little triangle, all three of you will bang heads, my boyfriend will drive up … in the Mach 5—two seats—and before you can get out of your dazed and confused little state, I will have made my great escape."

I stationed my elbows in my knees and out my chin on my hands, "Now, do you really want to go through all that in the next …" I squinted to look at the clock, "33 seconds?"

They charged.

"Okay!" yelled I. I threw myself up from the chair, kicked Rosey in the nose, landed on the ground, kneeled down, spun, kicked Mariana in the legs, got up, jumped, and kicked Delila across the face.

"Hey!" called a voice. "Trixie!"

"_Speed!_"

He drove up, my knight in shining armor, in the Mach 5, just like I'd said. I looked to the three other women. They were fighting … even thought _I_ was completely off to the side.

"Didn't see _that_ part coming," I mumbled. Speed's hands came around my shoulders and led me away, "Why don't we stop observing before they realize you aren't there and let's _go!_"

I glanced at the clock again, "33 seconds!"

"What?"

"Nothing," I put on my seatbelt and we were off.

"Togokahn told me where you'd be," said Speed, answering the question I hadn't even asked yet. "Now I've gotta send him a fruit basket!"

"Put both our names on it and I'll pay for half," I offered. And with that, Taejo Togokahn regained our trust.

Or at least _enough_ of it.

--_**Author's Note: **Did anyone catch my useless Plain White T's reference?--_


	10. Totally Right, Aren't I?

**_Totally Right (Aren't I?)_**

I got more visitors at the Racer House in the week of the attack on me by Rival's Angels (cue the corny theme music) than in my entire life: two.

It was about seven-thirty the next evening when the family was eating dinner. The sun had long left the sky, and a few crickets were chirping outside. We were eating spaghetti. Spritle and Chim-Chim were eating off the same plate. Their forks had gotten into a tangled mess of noodles and they were tugging on each end like a rope.

"Ten bucks on Chim-Chim," said Speed.

"Speed!" called Mom Racer. "No betting at the dinner table."

"Oh, come on, I was just kidding," he defended himself. Finally Chim-Chim snapped the tangle in half. He pumped his fork up in victory. Speed looked at me pointedly. I laughed.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Now who could that be, this late?" asked Mrs. Racer. I jumped up from the table, "I'll get it." I skipped to the front door and turned her knob. The figure behind it was instantly recognizable, but kind of hard to see in the dead of night with all that black.

"Racer X?" I asked. "I'll go get Speed."

"I've come to talk to _you_," he corrected me.

"Huh?" I asked. Now _Racer X _wanted to speak with me? Had the whole world gone topsy-turvy?

"I would like to speak with you," he paraphrased himself. Aware that this was probably not going to be a pleasant talk, I stepped onto the porch and closed the door.

"What is it?"

"You were attacked," he declared.

"I got into an altercation with a couple of crooked racers working for that bastard Rival, yeah," I responded. "So?"

"You were caught in the middle of an explosion at Kirkala," he continued. "One someone _died_ in."

"And I'm fine," I added to his sentence.

"Do you really think Rival's going to stop?" he asked. "Do you think he'll rest as long as you—and Speed—are 'fine?'"

"We can handle him," I said.

"What do you think is going to happen?" he inquired. "Do you think that you're both going to get the Grand Prix and race together and _celebrate_ when the other wins? Do you think it'll be that simple? It's _not!_ Rival and all the others like him won't rest until one of you goes down in flames. And …"

As he spoke, I got a vision of the Mach 6 on fire. And not _just_ on fire … blazing. I tried as clandestinely as I could to wipe a tear away

"It's going to be you," Racer X finished.

I glared at him, "Oh, yes, of course the _girlfriend_ must be the one to get thrashed!" I walked off the porch onto the sidewalk. Why there when I could have just as easily gone back in the house?

I don't know.

"No matter how well you drive, everyone will peg you as the weaker one," he explained. "You're the easiest target."

"So what are you saying?" I asked as I stomped down the street, not even glancing back at him.

"It's not your time."

"Not my time?!" at this I turned around. "Who are you to say when my time is?!"

"Speed lost his brother; he doesn't need to lose you, too."

"Why do you _care!?_" yelled I. "What does it matter to _you_ if Speed loses me?"

He stayed silent. _It's now or never, Trixie_, I thought, _just put it out there._

"Is it because you're Rex?"

"Now _you're _on this bandwagon?" he asked.

"Speed told me he saw your face," I said. "He says you're not. But I think you are. I see Speed in you when you drive. And I remember when I was young and used to see Rex at the house." I walked around him. "There was a presence. I knew I was the company of greatness. I've only felt that presence two times since: when I saw Speed's first race and … when I raced with you."

I stopped in front of him and placed a hand on my hip.

"Why should I take advice from you?" asked I. "A man with no fashion sense or relationship with his family?"

"Suppose you're right," he began

"I _know_ I'm right," I interrupted.

"If that's the case," he said, "I must not be much different than you."

I crossed my arms, but I didn't speak.

"Where is your family?" he asked. It was _my _turn to stay silent.

"Do you even _have_ a family?"

--

It was the anniversary of Rex Racer's death. I had been living with the Racers for almost a year and was accompanying them to the cemetery to honor him and place roses on this grave and such.

"You really don't have to do this," said Speed.

"Nonsense!" retorted I. "I didn't know Rex long, but even I could see he was a great man. And it means so much to your family."

"_Our_ family," said Mom Racer. "You're just as much a part of this family as Speedy is."

"Yes, Mrs. Racer," I said. Even with being them as long as I had, I couldn't muster up the steel to say they were my family. They already had a complete family, one that loved one another, one that had pictures of everyone on the mantel over the fireplace. Where did I fit on that mantel?

As I placed a pink rose on Rex's grave I pondered up to him in Heaven; _I wish you could have seen Speed grow. Pops doesn't want him to race, but he's going to. He has to. He's meant to. He's going to be great, just like you. No, he's going to be the __**best**__, like you were __**supposed**__ to be._

But wherever he was, I'm sure he _knew_ that.

"Could I have a minute alone?" asked Speed. We all nodded and awkwardly dispersed.

You can tell a fresh grave from an old one. There are plants growing on old ones. There are cracks in the headstone and the letters look worn. So when I walked through the graveyard I tried to pray for all people in the new graves. I didn't know them, but I thought it was a nice gesture. I sometimes wondered if anyone would do it when I died.

_Maybe Spritle and Chim-Chim will try,_ I thought. Then I added, _and then they'd knock over the headstone, the bozos!_

Suddenly, I came to a stone that said 'Shimura' on it. I bent down to have a closer look at it, thinking, _maybe a long lost relative_. The headstone read, "Aviatrix Shimura: Loving wife." I jumped up and gasped loudly.

Aviatrix Shimura was my mother.

"Trixie, what's wrong!?" asked Speed, running over to me. I took one look at him, in his little black suit, and stepped in front of my mother's grave. Today was about Rex and him, not me.

"I tripped," I lied.

"Are you okay?" he asked. I walked over to him and put his face in my hands, "_I _should be asking _you _that!"

"I'll be fine," he replied. "Come on, Mom and Pops say we're leaving." I wrapped both my hands around his arm. As we walked away, I looked back at my mother's headstone and thought at it, _I'll come back, Momma._

At eleven at night, I did.

"How could this happen, Momma?" I asked. Tears started to fall from my eyes into the flowers I had brought for her.

She had been sick for a while, before I even left the house. That was what stopped her from doing what she loved … flying. I guess the love of the sky ran in my family. But I had thought that, if she became terminally ill, Dad would have at least put his petty hate for the Racers aside to tell me!

"Oh!!" I wailed. I dropped the bouquet and fell upon her tombstone. I hugged it and wondered what I had done so wrong that I wasn't given the chance to say goodbye.

"Trixie?" asked a voice. I looked up and saw a man's outline through my tears. I wiped my eyes dry.

"Speed? What are you doing here?"

"I'm talking to Rex," he replied. "Mom and Pops always give me a time limit, like it'd make me less sad to see less of the grave." He paused, and then wondered aloud, "Wait, why am _I_ explaining myself to _you?!_ What are _you_ doing here?"

I looked from him to the headstone and back. Finally, I admitted, "This is my mom's grave."

"But isn't this the grave you were at this morning?" he asked.

"I didn't want to make this day all about me," I explained. He took my arm, lifted me off my mother's gravestone, and looked at it. He shook his head and asked, "You didn't even know?"

"_No!_" I moaned. "I never saw her after I left the house and Dad never told me!" Staring at the polished rock, I grew angry with my father. How _dare_ he keep this from me?!

I slipped out of Speed's grip and ran out of the cemetery.

"Trixie?" he yelled after me. "_Trixie, wait!!_"

He caught up to me at the old house. _My _old house. He looked around warily, whispering, "Trixie, we shouldn't be here. Last time _past by _your father said he'd run me over with a Mustang next time he saw me!"

Ignoring him, I twisted the doorknob and pulled. To my shock, it came open.

"I'm coming, Rex," muttered Speed as he followed me inside.

"You really don't have to do this," I said.

"_Nonsense!_" exclaimed Speed, imitating me. I glanced at him and gave a small smile. We crept into the living room. I noticed it first, but Speed said it first.

"It's totally empty."

I heard my shoes hitting the wooden floors as we walked. There was absolutely nothing in the house. He had moved and didn't even bother to give me a call. As we came to my childhood room, I was reluctant to open the door.

"We can go home, Trixie," said Speed. "Right now. Let's go home."

"Unfortunately for me, this _is _home," I said. I pushed it open and widened my eyes in heartbreak.

Not only was everything still there; it was all broken. My little pink worktable was missing a leg. My mattress was thrown off the bed frame. All my toys were scattered on the floor and looked like they had been stepped on. I took my final step inside and felt something pointy under my foot.

"Ow!" I exclaimed. I picked up the foreign object. It was my little toy helicopter.

"Oh," I sighed. "Do you remember this, Speed?"

"Sure I do," he said. "It was your favorite toy. We used to pretend I was racing and you were spotting for me in it."

I looked to the bed. A faint outline of our former selves appeared. Speed was moving his car forward on the mattress. I was zooming the helicopter above him in my hand.

"How am I doing, Trix?" he asked.

"You're miles ahead of the competition, Speed," I replied. "They're never gonna catch up!"

Slowly we faded into nothing again.

"I always wanted a helicopter. All that work for my pilot's license with…" I trailed off and fell to my knees.

"Trixie!?" he yelled, concerned.

"I don't have a family, Speed," I said. "My mother's dead, my father's off God knows where, and he hates me so much he doesn't even want my stuff. I'm all alone in the world." Sitting among the shattered pieces of my childhood, I even wished for a moment that I had died instead of Momma.

"Oh, come on, Trixie," said Speed as sat down on the floor. "You know that's not true." I looked from my toy to him. It fell out of my hands.

"You and me, _we're _family," Speed continued. "You're a part of the Racer family now." He gently led my face into his neck, patted my head, and kissed the top. I held him fondly around his shoulders.

One month later, still sitting in my self-pity, Speed covered my eyes and said, "Guess who."

"Bobby Mainer?" asked I sarcastically.

"Bobby Mainer?!" he asked, removing his hands. "That jerk I beat up in fifth grade?"

"He had such a crush on me," I laughed.

"I know!" he exclaimed. "That's why I beat him up!"

"And they say _I'm _jealous," I snorted. Speed put his hands back on my eyes, "Come on, just follow me."

I walked blindly through the hall. "Where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise!"

"You're going to tell me!" yelled I.

"I'm not _that_ stupid!" he yelled.

"You're not stupid," said I.

"Okay," he said. "Okay, we're here!" He uncovered my eyes. I looked in front of me and saw the entire family standing in front of a big pink and black helicopter.

"What is this?!" I asked.

"It's for you!" exclaimed Speed. "I designed it myself, and the whole family helped build it."

I walked over to the family and around the helicopter. It said "TRX" on the sides. I read it aloud, "The TRX. The Trix."

"It's _you_," said Speed. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," I said. I kissed Mom and Pops on their cheeks, "Thank Pops, Mom." I tousled Spritle and Chim-Chim's hair, "And you guys, too." I went back to Speed and pulled him closer to me by his collar. "And as for you, Speed Racer, I could kiss you, but your parents are here."

"Let em ground me," he said. And he kissed me.

"Ick!" said Spritle. "Cootie shot!"

"That's my family," chuckled Speed.

"That's _our_ family," I corrected him.

--

"I'll tell you where they are," said I. I pointed to the house, "They're right in there. Speed and Mom and Pops and Spritle and Sparky and even that damn monkey Chim-Chim; _they're_ my family," I said. "And you don't know what you're missing!"

I shoved past him and started back home. Over my shoulder I yelled, "I don't care if it's my time or not. I'll quit when _I_ want to."

Flushed and upset, I opened the door and went back in the kitchen.

"Oh, good thing you're back," said Mom Racer. "Your dinner was getting cold and slightly eaten."

"'Slightly eaten' by who?!" I asked. Two forks were reaching to my plate. Spritle and Chim-Chim looked up at me, innocent smiles on their faces and forks still hovering over my dinner. I grabbed the plate, "If I find any monkey hair in my food, you two are gonna be sorry!"

"So, Trix, who was at the door?" asked Speed.

"The Harbinger of Doubt," I grunted.


	11. Is the Juice Worth the Squeeze?

**_Is The Juice Worth the Squeeze?_**

--**_Author's Note_**: This chapter's name is a totally useless reference to another Emile Hirsch film..._The Girl Next Door_--

There was knocking on my bedroom door. It prompted me to open my eyes and sit upright. I was dressed in new pajamas: a pink top, white bottoms, and a thin gossamer robe. Groggily I moaned, "Who is it?"

"It's me," said Speed's voice. "Inspector Detector just called."

I perked right up. My robe swayed in the air as I ran to the door and pulled it open. "You mean about the explosion?! Did they get him?" Speed took one look at my wide eyes and obvious concern. Then put his head down.

"They can't prove anything … can they?" I asked softly. Speed shook his head, "All results are inconclusive. They have to chalk it up to a malfunction."

"But it _wasn't_ a malfunction …" I said. "I know it wasn't."

"I know," he concurred. "But there's nothing the CIB—or we—can do."

"And the Infernal Series?"

"It's back on," he answered.

"Of course it is," I sighed, grasping to the bellows sleeves of my robe. I turned my back to Speed and walked further into my room, "They won't be satisfied until one of us is dead. _Then _some mysterious piece of evidence they _overlooked_ before will come into plain sight!"

Speed was shaken by my prediction of death. He followed me, "One of us _dead?_ Trixie, what are you talking about? Do you know more than you're telling me?"

"I watched someone _die!!_" I yelled, turning abruptly to face him. "If I knew anything that could put that bastard Jack Rival behind bars for the rest of his life, do you think I wouldn't tell?!"

"Why are you so scared?"

"Why _shouldn't _I be?!" I yelled. "Some madman is killing our colleagues!"

"So what are you trying to say?" he asked. "You're not going to Brittlerock?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I asked.

"Actually … I would."

I hadn't expected him to say that. I stumbled backwards and stammered, "Y—you want me to quit?"

"I almost lost you," he explained. "I don't want to feel like that ever again."

"So you don't think I'll make it?" I asked. "And you'll manage just fine?"

"Well," he began, searching for the words to say what he meant … or what would get him out of this predicament fastest, "I—I'm—"

"I'm going to Brittlerock," I assured him. "And you can go there—and to all the other races—without_ me!_" I walked past him and down the steps. He followed me, but stopped at the top of the staircase and asked, "Did we just break up?"

I stopped, looked at him with widened eyes for a moment, and continued. Those sure _sounded _like break up words, but if we confirmed that there was nothing between us any longer, I might shrivel into dust.

"Trixie, if you don't want to do this anymore, just tell me!" he screamed.

I kept running down the steps, ended up tripping, and falling on my face. Speed ran after me and propped me up on my knees. He said softly, "You're mad. I get that. And people say things they don't mean when they're mad. So tell me you didn't mean what you just said. Tell me that, and I'll believe you."

I put my hands in my face and wept, "I'm just so frustrated."

"I know," he confessed. "It frustrates me, too."

"I'm sorry I screamed at you," I whispered. "There's just no one else to scream at, I guess." He kissed my forehead, "It's fine." We sat together on the steps in silence for about a minute, until Speed asked, "Hey, have they asked you to come to the school again?"

I was jerked out of a moment of deep thought. I backtracked a moment and recalled his question, "Huh? … Oh! What does it matter? You don't want to go…"

"But _you_ do, right?" he inquired.

"Yeah, so?" asked I. Speed shrugged and muttered, "Well, if you want to go…"

I snorted.

"Speed Racer," I said, "are you trying to tell me you want to go back to Annville Elementary School?" Never the one to admit anything, he replied, "I only want to go if you want to go."

"And if I want to go?" I asked.

"Then I'll go," he answered.

Two days later, however, when we stood in front of Mrs. Waterstratt's third grade class, he looked like he would have sold his soul—or the Mach 6—to be anywhere else in the world.

"Everyone," said Mrs. Waterstratt, "this is Speed Racer and Trixie Shimura. I had them in this class when they were your age."

"They were _our_ age once?!" asked a young girl.

"Wow! They're so _old!_" said another.

"I hope _we_ never get that big," added a boy. I chuckled. They were all so cute!

Speed was less enthusiastic. Every time Mrs. Waterstratt turned her head away from us, Speed would glare at the back of her head, or stick his tongue out, until the children would start laughing and she'd turn to inspect the noise.

She continued our introduction by saying, "Look how you've both grown. How pretty you are, Trixie!" She gently slapped my cheek … but not so gently that it didn't still hurt. I muttered, "Ow."

"You were such a good student," she praised me." She went over to Speed, "And Speed, you were so …" she patted the top of his head with a fake smile, "Cute." She turned away and Speed frowned. He waved his hand next to his ear in a mocking sort of way. The kids laughed again. Watterstratt turned back at breakneck speed to inspect us. Speed reflected her phony smile back at her.

"Now," she said, not taking her eyes off Speed, "Who has a question for Speed or Trixie?"

A little boy raised his hand Speed pointed at him, "You."

"Speed, how long did you know you wanted to race?" he asked.

I watched Speed's face gain that nostalgic grin he wore whenever he spoke of racing, his past, or both. He answered, "Forever. I only learned how to walk so I could get into a car. Racing's all I ever wanted to do. And now that I'm doing it … I couldn't be happier."

"It's what he was born to do," I added. "I mean, look at his name! Come on!"

"Next question?" asked Speed.

"Over here, please!!" said a girl. She was completely dressed in pink and had my haircut. Speed gave her a smile and said, "Let me guess … you want to speak to Trixie."

"I have two questions," she declared.

"Let's hear them," I said. She grinned broadly, so happy at the prospect of speaking to me, that it made me grin, too

"Is it true that you can fly a helicopter?!" she asked. I chuckled and assured her, "I sure can. Come by Racer Motors when you get a little older, and I'll give you a little flying lesson in the TRX." I winked at her, "What's your second question, hon?"

"Well," she began, "my big brother says racing is for boys and that a girl could never win. So, could you win the Grand Prix so I can show him he's wrong?"

My eyes widened and my mouth was slightly open. I could feel Speed's eyes staring at me. Slowly I went over to the girl's desk and told her, "Sweetie, I can't promise you that, because I don't know if I'm going to win or not. But you can be sure I'll do my best … and that your brother _is _wrong. Someday some girl _is_ going to get to the Grand Prix and whip all those boy into shape. Who knows? It might even be you. You've made a fan out of me."

She put her little arms around my neck and hugged me.

"That girl got to you," Speed mentioned as we stood in the rosebushes we met in all those years ago. I'm not joking; there was still a dent from where his head collided with the dirt. I sighed, "Yes, she did. … I don't know what I'm doing. I feel like everyone's pulling me in a thousand different directions."

"Well, Trix, the secret to the success of racing," he said to me, "is to figure out _your_ direction. And then you forget everyone else and _their_ direction and follow yours." He glanced at the window to the clock, "It's getting late. We better go home."

"Yeah, okay," I concurred.

As we came into the front door Speed declared, "We're home!" but no one answered. He peeked into the living room. Spritle and Chim-Chim were on the couch, watching TV.

"What are they watching?" I asked.

"Afterschool cartoons, I guess," he replied. "Come on, let's go upstairs."

But something kept my eyes glued to the TV screen. I waved him upstairs, saying, "You go, I'll catch up." He looked at me strangely, shrugged, and trotted up to his room. I watched as the commercial break ended on their program and a picture—of all things—of me and Speed came on the screen.

"_Speed Racer and Trixie Shimura have used their driver—pun intended—to make it to this year's Infernal Series,_" said a faceless reporter. "_They're favorites to win the Grand Prix. But could their love of the sport outweigh their love for each other?_"

Our portrait snapped in half.

"_Could this be the end of Sprixie?_" asked the reported. I cocked an eyebrow, _Sprixie?_ I mouthed the word.

"Spritle!" shouted the voice of Mom Racer. "Turn that dreadful program off!" She came into view, grabbed the remote, and turned off the TV.

"Hey, Mom," said Spritle, "can Chim-Chim and me have Trixie's room if she stops dumps Speed and moves out?"

"Bite your tongue!" scolded Mrs. Racer. "Trixie is a part of this family and she won't be moving anywhere!"

I went upstairs before they could notice me. The first thing I heard when I got to the top was Speed's voice shouting, "WHAT? _NO!!_" There was a sound of a phone being hung up and the pulling of a cord.

"Who was that?" I asked, watching him wrap the cord around the phone.

"That was a rep from _Racers Monthly_ asking if we would do a photo spread and interview," he explained. "They wanted to call it '_Engine of Love._' What does that even _mean_?"

"And I take it you said no," I observed.

"Trixie," he said, "I don't need the world to know how I feel about you … I just need you to."

"Speed," I began, reaching for his shoulder, "What would you do if … I won it all?" Immediately after my last word his arm went limp. With no facial expression whatsoever, he said, "Brag," and that was all.

Surely he'd taken his arms and pushed me apart from him! And yet, no, there we were in the same spots.

"Oh," I replied. I turned to the doorway, glanced back, and shut the door.

Not a smile, not ever a _twitch!_ His voice felt so cold he might as well have been Old Man Winter! Was I really about to lose him? A single tear dropped from my right eye. I wiped it away quickly. I sat on the floor and leaned on Speed's door. Only one thought came to mind: _is it worth it?_ Are trophies and races worth losing the boy I've loved for…_ever_? Was Racer X right?

It was something to think about.


	12. Guess Who's Coming to Breakfast

**_Guess Who's Coming to Breakfast!_**

There was a Mercedes parked outside of the Racer residence when Speed and I woke up the next day. I ran into his room and asked, "Have you seen that car?!" But the question proved futile when I realized he was staring out his window.

"Sweet set of wheels," he murmured. "Wonder whose it is." I patted him on the shoulder, said, "I'll be right back," and ran into my room.

I pulled a few drawers of my desk in and out until I found my pink and black binoculars, and then rejoined Speed. I put them to my eyes to glance at the license plate on the back. It read "PTRCA SHMU."

"Speed, that's _my _car!" I yelled. I shook my head clear and revised my statement, "I mean, it _was _my car. But I left it with …" I ran down the steps.

"Trixie!" called Speed. "Trixie, what's going—?"

But when we got into the kitchen, his question was answered.

"Oh."

There was my _father,_ sitting at the table with Mom and Pops Racer, and eating cereal. Speed and I stood in the doorway for a full minute at least, trying to take in the sight.

"Suddenly I don't want breakfast," I whispered. I grabbed Speed by the collar and murmured, "Come on, let's go." I was hoping to get back in my room and pretend to sleep until Dad had to go back to work.

But, of course, I'm not that lucky.

"Trixie, you're up," said Mrs. Racer. "Look who came to visit you." I turned around, still directing Speed by the collar, and forcedly proclaimed, "Hi."

My father started over to me with an utterance of, "Patricia …"

"Mr. Shimura," I greeted without even glancing at him.

"Trixie, there's no need to be so cold to your father …" Pops said.

"Father?" I asked. "Yeah, _that's_ the word." I threw my arms out in front of me, "What do you want? Did you finally get around to that To-Do-List?" I pretended with my right hand to be scribbling on my left palm, "'Let's see, um, number one: Tell Patricia her mother's _dead!_ Maybe telling her I'm sorry for slapping her across the face?'"

"He did _what?!_" asked Speed, eyes wide. He took a step closer to my father, trying best he could to seem intimidating.

"Let me speak to my daughter," Dad demanded, reaching to me.

Speed stood in front of me and put out his arms, offering himself as a human shield. He screamed, "You don't touch her; you don't talk to her; you don't even _look_ at her!"

"_Speed!_" chastised Mom Racer.

"_Mom!_" he yelled in defense.

"May I have a moment with my daughter in private?" asked Dad. The Racers looked to me. I drew in a deep breath and nodded stoutly. The family left the kitchen, but Speed made sure to tell me, "If anything happens, you come get me."

"Yeah," I whispered with a nod. The Racers took refuge upstairs and I was left alone with this ghost of my past. Trying solely to make small talk, I asked, "Where are you working from?"

"I can't tell you that."

"What do you want?" I repeated.

"You have become a professional race car driver," he said.

"Yeah," I said. "But don't get the impression that it has anything to do with you."

"Patricia, I trust you know how well Shimura Motors is doing for itself," he continued.

"I'm not coming back," I shook my head.

"We have even bought out Rival Industries," he added.

"Well, good for y—" I started. Then the full extent of what he said hit me. "You bought out Rival?!"

"I trust you're familiar."

"_Familiar?!_" I shrieked. "He's tried to kill me … twice!" My eyes widened, "And you _let _him!"

"Get off the track, Patricia," he demanded. "Your boyfriend is already doomed. I told him it would be _nice_ if you survived."

It was _him_ who wanted Speed dead! And he'd kill his own daughter to do it! I gasped at him, "You _monster!_"

"I did what I had to, Patricia," he said. "Remember how we used to live? You could have had so much power by now. And you could have been the best driver in the world. If you had only just chosen blood over boys."

"I live just fine!" I yelled. "I _drive_ just _fine!_ I don't need power! And I don't need you." I pointed to the doorway, "Get out."

He stood still.

"_Get out of my home!_" I screamed. He meandered to the door. When I heard the sound of his palm touching it, I turned and swore, "If Speed Racer gets a single scratch, I'm going to take you down."

"As if you could," he growled. And then he left.

I ran up the stairs to Speed's room and said, "He's leaving."

"Good."

"No, _not_ good!" I said. "He bought out Rival and I've got nothing and … I need to follow him!"

He paused for a second, and then shouted, "Gizmo!"

"Now's not the time to shout out random words!"

"No, he said. He led me to the living room and hopped inside the parked Mach 5. Why the car was parked in the living room when they had a perfectly functioning garage was beyond me.

Speed pressed the G button. A little metal bird emerged and floated in the air. It was a 'homing bird,' a device that could transmit U-CAP footage from anywhere. Speed brought a remote control out of seemingly nowhere and directed the bird to fly above my head. He pointed at it, "Gizmo!"

"You _named_ the homing bird?!" I asked.

"Why not?" he asked. "Just open the front door." I jogged over to it and did as he said. He pushed a button on the remote control and Gizmo flew outside.

"I'll have Gizmo follow your dad," Speed explained. "And when we find out where he's been hiding, we'll call the CIB and have them investigate."

"Do you really think that'll work?"

"Rival's stocks' been plummeting since we've been whooping Cannonball and Kellie every chance we get," he stated. "Wouldn't buying them out now seem a _bit _suspicious? Gizmo's worth a try, isn't he?" I threw my arms around his neck, "Oh, Speed, you're a genius!!"

"Can you tell that to Waterstratt?!"


	13. And After All …

**_And After All ..._**

The Homing-Bot did not arrive until around eleven that night. Speed and I had been in the living room, watching this British movie about a scientist who becomes obsessed with a couple that lives next door that he can see through a hole in his wall and, as a result, punches more holes into it so he can watch them.

"What's the point of this movie again?" he asked.

"I told you it was terrible."

"Then please explain to me why we're watching it!" he demanded.

"Sorry, Wunderkind, but I'm gonna have to let you spin on that one," I replied. He crossed his arms and continued to gaze at the screen, mumbling, "Might as well … nothing better on anyway."

Through the open window, the little robot came sailing in. It landed right atop the Mach 5's hood.

"Gizmo's back," said Speed, rushing to the car. He pushed the button to Gizmo's compartment and explained, "We'll call the CIB about it tomorrow. Is that okay?"

"Fine," I smiled.

He stared at his knees, as if his pants were the most enthralling thing in the universe. Suddenly he said, "Trixie, you know, Gizmo is _my _robot. And with this … if there's something really worth noting … I'm the one responsible. No one has to know you're involved in this at all."

I lowered my face to his level, pulled his head close, and touched our cheeks together. I sighed, "Speed, he's my dad. Everyone is going to know I'm involved." Never tearing my gaze away from his eyes, I fell to my knees, wrapped my hands around his extended arm, and rubbed it up and down, "Do you know how much you mean to me?"

"You mean a lot to me, too," he replied.

"Kiss me?"

"What?"

"Just kiss me, _please_," I begged. He leaned over the door to touch his lips to mine, until …

"Get a room," said Spritle, hopping down the stairs with Chim-Chim. The chimp squeaked and nodded, concurring with him.

Speed jumped back from me and turned his head disdainfully towards his brother. He asked, "Wasn't your bedtime an _hour_ ago, Spritle?" The boy shifted his eyes around the room suspiciously. He murmured, "We were just gonna get some water."

It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize he was lying through his teeth.

"It'd be a shame if Mom found out you weren't getting your eight hours," Speed continued.

"Yeah … well … I'm sure she wouldn't be happy about you eating before bed, either," he retorted. Speed and I glanced at each other, bewildered. '_Eating before bed?'_

"What are you getting at?" Speed asked.

"You _are_ trying to swallow Trixie's tongue, right?" Spritle gibed.

"Spritle, I swear, if you don't get out of here …"

"Oh, continue your spit-swapping-fest," he interrupted. "Come on, Chim-Chim." They bounced up the stairs, Spritle whispering, "I guess we'll just have to watch it in our room."

"What could he be so anxious to see?" I asked.

"No doubt something Mom and Pops wouldn't want him to."

"Are you going to tell them he's still up?"

Speed shifted his mouth from side to side and concluded, "Nah, he'll give himself away tomorrow when he collapses in the pancakes." He looked to the clock and said, "We should probably get to sleep ourselves. Brittlerock's tomorrow." He went over to the TV.

"Do we really _have_ to watch the end of this movie?" he asked.

"Oh, no," I said. "I read about it." He let out a deep breath of relief and pressed the power button off.

"Just so you know, you're mine, too," he declared suddenly.

"What?" I asked. He motioned his head to the now-blank television screen, "I know. And you're mine, too." As he trotted up the stairs, I stared at his back and grinned.

The movie's name was _Wonderwall_.

I followed up the staircase and skipped into my room. Speed was standing in his doorway, hand on the light switch. He bade me, "Good night, Trix."

"Nighty-night, Speed," I said with a wave. He chuckled and turned his lights off. I smiled too as I flipped the switch and closed my door.

I sat up for a while, thinking about everything that happened, everything I had discovered, and that horrible movie. My eyes stayed transfixed on the black ceiling, looking at, but not seeing, the moving illusions that danced in the dark. I started blinking rapidly and soon fell asleep.

I stood alone in darkness, nothing at all to be seen. Voices called, "Quit. Quit. Quit."

"I won't!" I yelled. The voices responded by coming out of the shadows and grabbing me. They pulled by my limbs, even my clothes, in one direction.

"It's not your time," said Racer X.

"You know how competitive Speedy gets!" Mom Racer warned.

"I told him it would be _nice_ if you survived," My father snorted. "Your boyfriend is doomed." When they finally released me, I was standing before a door. Speed was stationed in front of it.

"What do I do?" I asked him.

"Find your direction," he said. He moved away from the door and I could see the writing on it: _Their Direction: The Easy Way Out_. I walked over and reached my hand to it, but just as my fingers touched the surface, I felt a tug on the back of my shirt. Something was holding me back.

"Prove my brother wrong, Trixie," said a little voice

"I didn't come this far to quit now," added another. I turned and faced my ten-year-old self and the girl from Waterstratt's class. I shook my head clear, knelt down, and hugged them both, "Thank you."

Everything melted away. I was in the TRX-1, driving on the track at Cosmopolis; the Grand Prix! Even through the black tint of my helmet, the neon lights were almost blinding. I turned the wheel absentmindedly, concentrating solely on the beauty of my surroundings

Then I felt something ram me. I glanced over, only to find Kellie Kalinkov smiling at me. Then someone else joined it. I turned to my right, where Rosey Blaze was giving me everything she had.

I pushed the A button on my dashboard. Nothing happened.

"The Jump Jacks _can't_ be disabled," I whispered, just before I took another blow. All the other cars on the track were crowded around me pushing my car towards the ramp. I looked around desperately while pressing button after button with no response. Finally, something occurred to me.

I couldn't see the Mach 6.

The other drivers finally managed to throw me off the ramp. I went tumbling through the air, car and all. Then the car vanished, and I was left, sailing as if in slow motion, until I hit face first into solid ground. I turned myself over and looked at my body. I was now wearing a black dress. My father stood above me in a black suit.

"Daddy?" I asked, glancing around. "Where are we?" Dirt and tombstones surrounded us. I concluded, "The cemetery."

"It's your fault," said he.

"What are you _talking_ about?"

"She got sick because _you_ left!" he yelled. "She cried for you every day and you just sat around, philandering. It's your fault she's dead, Patricia. And when he dies, it'll be your fault, too." I looked over my head at the tomb I was lying on.

Gregory "Speed" Racer.

"No!" I yelled. I touched the stone, feeling every indentation on the rock. "He's not dead, he can't be dead …"

"All he ever did was care for you!" shouted Mom Racer's croaky voice. "I knew you were trouble! Look what you've done! It should have been you!!"

"It should have been _you!_" chanted the family. I found myself in a ditch, dirt washing over my small body.

"NGH!" I moaned, jerking awake, tears streaming down my face. I ran out of bed, opened my door, and ran into Speed's room. For a while my hand wandered, looking for the light switch, until I found it, purely by chance. Speed was lying in bed, eyes closed, and silent. I moseyed over to the side of the bed and watched him.

Then I whacked him on the chest.

His eyes opened and started kicking blindly in front of him.

"Hi," I said. Finally, he saw me and asked, "What was _that_ for?!"

"You weren't snoring," I explained. "I got scared."

"I snore?" he asked.

"You sound like an air conditioner," I confirmed. He rubbed his chest and said, "Okay, but if anyone asks … you were a ninja." I smiled and nodded, "Okay. But, um, Speed…"

"Yeah?"

"Can I stay here tonight?" I asked. "With you?"

"I'd love that, but if Mom and Pops …"

"Please?" I added. He paused, but finally said, "Sure." I turned the light back off, strutted back to the bed, got on my knees, and felt for his hand. I pulled it toward me and rested my head on it.

"Never leave me," I demanded.

"I won't."

-- _**Author's Note: **okay, so this whole chapter is one big reference to that Oasis song, but hey, that song is awesome. And the movie really DOES exsist, and they really do say it's __terrible.--_


	14. Coming Up Short

**_Coming Up Short_**

Speed suggested to me the morning of Brittlerock that we wait after the race to call the CIB about my father and Gizmo.

"After the race?!" I asked. "Do you _know_ how many things could happen _during_ the race?"

"Trixie, there's no time," he said. "The race is this afternoon, and no doubt they'll want Gizmo right away." I understood his reasoning, but it didn't change the fact that I _needed _that hunk of metal at the CIB as soon as possible. I frowned, turned, and went out the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To make time," I replied. I galloped down the steps to the Mach 5, leaned over the passenger door, reached to the steering wheel and pressed the G button. Gizmo floated into the air. Before he could get too far over my head, I grabbed him and said, "Come on, little guy, you're coming with me."

I pulled Inspector Detector's business card out of my pocket and picked up the phone, "Hello, Chief Inspector? It's Trixie Shimura. You may not remember me … I'm Speed Racer's spotter…"

"Yes, Trixie," he said. "Of course I remember you."

"I trust you've heard Shimura Motors—my father's company—has bought out Rival Industries under what seem to be … unsavory circumstances," I stated. "I think I have something of interest to the CIB and I'll be bringing it down to headquarters momentarily."

"But don't you…?"

"Have a nice day, Chief Inspector, I'll see you soon." I hung up the phone, not even giving him a chance to bid me goodbye.

"Wait…" I said to myself. "I don't have a street car!" The TRX-1 was a T-180, not made for regular driving, and I wasn't like I could walk.

"Times like this I wish I hadn't given up that Mercedes," I moaned. I looked around the room for a solution; then my eyes fell upon the Mach 5. I grinned and cocked an eyebrow.

The family went down to breakfast about a half an hour later (or so Speed told me).

"Where is Trixie?" asked Mom.

"I'm not sure," Speed replied. "I haven't seen her since earlier this morning."

"Oh, I _do _hope she's okay," she said. They crowded around the kitchen table. The seat beside Speed where I usually sat stayed empty.

Only after Mom put waffles on everyone's plate did she look to the living room and say, "Something's different." The men turned around. Pops stared at the empty parking spot of the Mach 5, stood up, and walked over to it. The rest of the family followed.

"Where's the—where's the car, where's the car, WHERE'S THE CAR!!?" Pops screamed.

Speed found a small white piece of paper on the floor and picked it up.

"_Sorry, be back before the race, xxx," _it read. Speed chuckled.

"How can you _laugh _at this?!" yelled Pops. Speed pocketed the note and said, "Don't sweat it, Pops, the Mach 5's fine."

I had driven the Mach 5 plenty of times, but this was the first time I didn't have Speed in the passenger seat yelling stuff like, "Red light, red light, RED LIGHT!!!" or "Trixie, the speed limit is 35; you're going 80!!"

I wasn't sure how fast I was going, but it wasn't like any cops were going to stop the Mach 5 anyway. The wind flew through my hair as I sped through the streets, and with a polka dot scarf wrapped around my head, sunglasses, and white gloves on my little hands, I imagine I looked rather like one of those 50's girls going on a forbidden drive in their father's precious Corvette.

When I stopped, I glanced in the side mirror, flattened my hair out, opened the door, pulled off my gloves, took the keys, grabbed Gizmo, closed the cockpit, and went to the building.

"Is that the Mach 5?" asked a security guard.

"It can't be; does that look like Speed Racer to _you_?!" asked the other. They looked utterly alike, and had no name tags. That was one thing I hated about security guards. Since when are they so important that you don't need to know their name?

They looked down at me, finally realizing I was there, "And who are you, missy?"

"Missy?" I whispered. "I'm Patricia Shimura. Inspector Detector is expecting me." They looked at each other incredulously, glanced at me, and then to the car.

"It's my boyfriend's car," I said. "You know … Speed Racer …"

They continued to stare at me. It wasn't enough that they weren't going to let me in when I only had so much time to spare, they were going to accuse me of stealing the Mach 5!

_Technically, you did_, I thought.

_No I didn't,_ I combated with. _I'm returning it, so it's borrowing … I just didn't ask him first._

I looked through the glass doors of CIB headquarters. I couldn't see Inspector Detector. _Great_, I thought. _How do I get past these bozos?_

"Oh!" I said suddenly. "Wait!" I dug into my pocket and took out my driver's license. I handed it to security guard number one and said, "See that! That's me!"

He inspected it and, seeing my face uncovered in the picture, asked, "Are you _the_ Patricia Shimura? Trixie Shimura? The racecar driver?"

"Yes!" I said. "Yes! That's me! I'm Trixie! With the TRX-1!" I pulled off my scarf and sunglasses, "See?"

"Right this way, Miss," he said, handing me back my license. They respected me so much now; they'd dropped the 'y' off 'missy.'"

"Trixie!" said a voice. Inspector Detector stared at me, bewildered. In his strange, seemingly German mixed with Russian, accent, he confessed, "I didn't really expect to see you. Aren't you competing in the Brittlerock race today?"

"I have plenty of time before that," I said. "And I felt this couldn't wait."

"You look well," he said. "Have you been questioned about Kirikala yet?"

"No," I replied. "Not that I know anything worth noting. He was there one minute, the next …" I stopped, shook my head, held out Gizmo, and said, "Can we just run this up to Minx, please?"

Minx was a lovely African-American scientist. She had put all the extra features in the Mach 5 before Casa Cristo. She was hardly ever seen out of the company of Racer X and she, too, had a strange dialect. She sounded like a person who lived the latter half of their life in England before returning to America, and now their voice didn't sound exactly like either.

"Straight away," he replied. He reached to take the little robot from me.

"I'd like to do it myself," I said, tightening my grip on the bird.

"Fine," he nodded. I jogged beside him up a few extensively long staircases.

"Inspector, if I may ask," I began. "Does the CIB suspect Jack Rival of any wrongdoing?"

"We've been after Rival for years, but he's not the type to leave a paper trail."

"Do you suspect him to have anything to do with Kirikala?" I asked.

"That is confidential," he answered. "I'm sorry, but I cannot tell you that."

"What about my father?" I added.

"Your…?"

"Inspector, _please_ tell me," I begged. "Does the CIB have any reason to suspect my father, Mike Shimura, of illicit activity?"

"Trixie…" he said quietly.

I stopped walking.

"You do, don't you?" I asked. "What?"

"Trixie…" he repeated.

"_Tell me what he's done!_" I screamed.

"Your father didn't retire from the WRL," said the Inspector. "He was dismissed for dealing with fixers. Including…"

What he'd just said made my mouth drop, but the next two words made me want to cry.

"…Blackjack Bernelli."

"Blackjack—Blackjack," I moaned. "That's the—the one they say … _He killed Speed's brother!! _Why didn't anyone tell me this _before_?" I started stomping up the stairs, leaving Inspector Detector behind as I said, "I can't take this…"

Just as I was about to open the door, Racer X emerged from it. I think he stared at me. His face didn't tear away from me until he was on the second or third step. I watched him.

_But that's just what they say,_ I thought.

"Are you sure you'd like to do this, Trixie?" asked Minx, holding Gizmo before me. "He _is_ your father."

"No, he's not," I snorted.

"Alright then," she nodded. She hooked Gizmo up to a large computer. The monitor showed the word 'Buffering' and a process bar.

"I expect this was all your idea?" she asked. I paused and then said, "Yes."

This wasn't going to be something else my father had to kill Speed for.

The process bar disappeared and was replaced with a screen called 'Homing Bird 2.0: Gizmo.' I stared at the word and asked, "He _registered_ the name?!"

"Yes, just last week," said Minx. "He thought it had a ring to it." She click-clacked on her keyboard and brought up Gizmo's snapshots.

"Hey!" I declared. "That one!" I pointed to the next to last photo: the Mercedes in front of a building.

"There's a street sign!" she declared. She plugged the names into a GPS search. A red flashing dot appeared on the screen.

"I thought these kind of things only existed in the movies," I muttered.

"It's a hotel," she said. "Likely not a permanent place of residence, but it's a start. You can go now, Trixie. If we find anything, we'll be sure to call you."

"Thank you, Minx," I said. I went to leave, but then turned back, "Oh, Minx! I have to ask … what exactly do you know about Racer X?"

"Nothing at all, why?" she responded.

"Oh, no reason," I said. I glanced at her dubiously. Whatever this conspiracy Racer X had going about his identity was, Minx was apparently a part of it. I opened the door. Only seconds before I took my first step down the stairwell, she said to me, "You're a very smart girl, Trixie."

I craned my neck to look at her. The expression on her face clearly said, '_maybe a bit _too_ smart_.'

"Thank you," I replied. Then I left.

Only to have Pops Racer scold me … again. The last time had been for accompanying Speed to Casa Cristo. I would have thought leading his son to death's door would have made him ten times madder than joyriding a car.

I don't know why I did … this was a Racer I was talking about!

"Do you have any idea what could have happened to that car!?" he screamed. "And you _left_ it! The Mach 5 isn't a car to be left unattended."

"I _had_ the keys," I muttered. "And the cockpit was sealed."

Mom Racer stood on the other side of the room. She had her sons on either side of her. Spritle and Chim-Chim were holding each other, bracing for when he _really _flipped out on me. Speed was watching desperately.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" asked Pops. I looked down and frowned; I really didn't have anything to say. I didn't regret taking the car, and if Speed didn't tell them about Gizmo and the plot to foil my father, _I_ certainly wasn't going to.

"The car _is_ fine," I mumbled. He looked at it, turned to me, and let out a deep breath, "You're right."

"I'm what?"

"The Mach 5 is perfectly fine. Thank God."

"And we're so happy _you're _alright, too," added Mom, reaching out with comforting arms, patting the shoulders of an invisible me that stood in front of her.

"Just … _don't _do it again," Pops warned. "Or I might have to ban you from the wheel!"

"Yes sir," I let out a deep breath. Mom and Pops left the living room; she patting him on the back and praising him for controlling his temper. Spritle and Chim-Chim opened their eyes, suspicious of the lack of an explosion, let each other go, and wiped their foreheads. Speed ran over to me.

"I thought he was going to _kill_ me!" I sighed.

"He'll do that to you," he concurred.

"I guess you only feel the wrath of Pops Racer if you're a non-ja, huh?" I joked. Speed smiled, "Go get your pulse rate back to normal; we've got a race in four hours."

And those four hours later, I was sliding into the door of my lovely racing car as it sat on the blue and white start line at the course called Brittlerock 2. In the distance were archways made of stone, a totem pole or two, and, way out beyond, a city full of skyscrapers. There was also a canyon underneath us that stretched as far as the eye could see.

"Stay on course … or else, pretty much," I said aloud. I looked at my opponents. Joining Speed and me on the 'Let's Crush Sprixie' side of the track were Cannonball and Kellie (how they kept coming back when they always lost is still a mystery to me, but I expect that was Rival's doing as well), the Gray Ghost, and Delila, who I noticed still had a bandage on her nose. I waved at her.

"I'm gonna kill you, you little brat! You and your ascot-wearing, pathetic excuse for a boyfriend!"

"Hey!" called Speed, pointing at the red scarf he donned on his collar, "This is a neckerchief!"

I glanced at him unsurely.

"They're different," he whispered. While Rosey pushed Delila back into her driver's seat and Speed began to mutter the disparities between ascots and neckerchiefs like it was the most important life lesson I'd ever get, I rolled my eyes and stared forward down the track.

"_3…" _sounded the PA.

"Here it comes," I whispered.

"_2…"_

"Now or never," Speed said as we both hit the accelerator.

"_1! GO!_"

Smoke emitted from the bottom of our wheels as we took off. Talk about burning rubber! I veered right and slipped right past Rosey and Kellie. I pushed myself further and managed to get next to the Gray Ghost.

"Show me what you got, pretty lady," he said.

"This is for Speed Racer at Fuji," I told him through gritted teeth. And then I Sweet Span him. Sure, he hadn't been the one to make Speed crash that year ago, but I still held some fault to him.

We came upon the tunnel, blue and white on the bottom and white and red on the ceiling. Delila and her car, the Chichi were driving on the ceiling as if it was as straight as the track.

"AHHHHH!!" she screamed. And she jumped off, coming right at me! I gasped, drove onto the ceiling, and swirled around back to the ground. While I was maneuvering, Kellie sped past me.

"Just great," I muttered.

The Chichi landed, front first, where the TRX-1 had been. Delilia's Kwiksave bubble bounced off the track. I let out a deep breath of relief and started en route to catch back up to Kellie. When I could finally see the Matryoshka up close, I rammed her on the side and misaligned her with the track.

"Oh, not this time," she said. She readjusted herself and pushed into my car. I tried to fight against her, but the wheels to the TRX-1 started to shift to the left the harder she pushed me to the right. Finally she hit me so hard that I was on my side, staring down at the canyons of Brittlerock. The dream I'd had last night came back to me.

"Here's to not being psychic!" I yelled, pushing the A button. My left jump jack pushed the Matryoshka off of me.

"_Yes!_" I shouted. I pushed the button again, flipped over Kellie's head, and landed beside her. Then she pushed her boost button and I lost her.

"_Kellie Kalinkov is catching up to leader Speed Racer!_" said the announcer. "_But I think he may have seen that attack on Trixie Shimura, and he's _NOT_ happy about it!"_

"Usually, I try not to hit girls," he said. "But you're an exception!" He Jump Attacked her, but she came back and started ramming him like she did me.

The Royalton GRX came tumbling by and finally landed next to me. As a sort of revenge on Speed for his consistent whipping of his tail, he attempted to Sweet Spin me. Before his finger even touched the button, I dug into the side of his car with mine.

"_And now they've begun to duke it out, couple to couple!"_ shouted the announcer.

"I'm so sick of you little punks," said Cannonball. The GRX jumped into the air.

"If Delila couldn't do it, what makes you think _you _can?" I asked him. I pressed the doge button. The car went to 380 mph in less than a second. Kellie's car was a blur as I went by.

"_Sprixie comes out on top!_" bellowed through the track.

"Are you okay?" asked Speed as I slowed back to normal pace.

"Peachy keen," I shook my head clear. The sounds of engines behind us became louder.

"They're catching up again," said Speed. He looked up at the track. It was split into two paths.

"And we're almost at the finish," he added. I glanced at my boost bar. It was in the blue zone. I looked behind us for a moment, murmured, "I'm ready," and hit the bar. I drove over a green boost patch while in the Zone and went from 417 to 430 mph. It was so fast that I started spinning while I drove. I couldn't even tell which path I was on!

"_And the winner is TRIXIE SHIMURA!!!"_ yelled the omniscient commentator. I stopped, let out a deep breath, and pulled off my helmet. I was glad _that_ was over. The cameras started to go off, and fans were cheering. Speed came over. I expected a hug or a kiss or _something_. He squeezed my shoulder, rubbed it a bit, said, "Good race," and walked away, leaving me with my jaw dropped.

"Speed Racer, you break my heart."


	15. The Grand Prixasco

**_The Grand Prix-asco_**

The weeks rolled on. The last three courses of the Infernal Series were already over. No one from the CIB had said anything about my father. I couldn't understand it. Minx said they would call me.

"I hope he didn't get away," I said one day. Suddenly, the phone rang. I ran to it and screamed, "Hello!?"

"Trixie Shimura?" asked the strange English accent.

"Minx!" I declared. "Have you found my father!?"

"We presented him with a search warrant, and we've found enough evidence to convict both him and Jack Rival," she said.

"Really!?" I asked in disbelief. It was all too good to be true!

"Unfortunately…" she continued.

"'Unfortunately' what?" inquired I. Of course. If it feels too good to be true, it _has_ to be. Story of my life!

"Unfortunately, they seem to have vanished," she replied. I sighed, defeated, "No _way_."

"Trixie, we've been working day and night on this," she said. "We _will_ catch them."

"By then it will be too late," I said, fighting back tears. "Too late."

And I hung up.

"TRIX-IEEEE!!!" yelled Speed. He was apparently at the bottom of the staircase, but I could hear him anyway. _That_ was how loud he was. The voice was followed by trotting steps and louder shouts as he got closer to my room, "TRIX-IEEEE!!!" He burst inside and handed me an envelope.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Open it!" he laughed. I broke the sticker seal on the back and slipped the piece out. It was an invitation to compete in the 92nd annual Grand Prix. My eyes widened as I read it. I wondered aloud, "I'm in? I'm in the Grand Prix!?"

"You're in!" he screamed. "_We're _in!!!" He picked me up, put me over his shoulder, and twirled me around.

"You can put me down right now, because I'm not going," I said.

He dropped me. As I pushed myself back to my feet he asked, "What? You're going to decline!?"

"Yep," I nodded.

"Why?"

"It's all just gotten so complicated," I mumbled. I turned away from him and wiped a stray tear from my face. "So needlessly complicated."

"Trixie, this kind of opportunity doesn't come around all the time!" he reasoned. "You're really going to give it up?"

I turned back to him and asked again, "What would you do if I won it all?"

"The Prix?"

"Yes, Speed," I said. "What would you do if, by some miracle of God, I won the Grand Prix?" In response, he came over to me, put his hands on my shoulders, smiled, and said, "Well, I'd be the happiest loser in the WRL."

Staring into his bright green eyes, I smiled. "Okay, okay, I'll go."

"Oh, Trix!" he cried, throwing his arms around me. "This is gonna be great!" I patted his back and, knowing he couldn't see me, frowned.

"Promise me you'll be careful," I whispered into his hair.

"Naturally," he responded. He squeezed me tighter, let me go, and started running around the house, screaming with joy. I flopped on my bed and sat there. At least _he_ was happy. _I_ couldn't lose this horrible feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.

"You're just nervous," said Speed as we got dressed in the locker room. Being that both the males and females had the same locker room, Speed felt the need to stand in front of me while I was getting dressed. He was holding his Racer Motors work shirt around me like I was a bull and he was a matador.

"Whose bright idea was it to make a co-ed locker room?" asked he.

"I don't recall hearing you complaining about this _last_ year," I commented.

"Well, uh, that's because … I didn't even _notice_ there were women in the locker room last year," he lied. "I was so, um, _absorbed_ … in the _moment_. And so all about _you_."

I shook my head. Did he honestly believe I fell for that?

Suddenly, he threw his shirt over me and yelled, "Turn your peepers elsewhere!" Never mind that I was fully dressed by this time. My phone started ringing, and I dug my head out from the blue material to find it in my purse. "Hello?"

"Trixie, we've found him!" said Inspector Detector.

"Who is it?" asked Speed.

"It's Inspector Detector," I said, covering the bottom half of the phone. I lifted my hand and asked, "You found my father?"

"Yes," he assured me. "And he will be taken into custody."

"Where was he?"

"In the blocks," he replied.

"The blocks? _Here?!_" I asked.

"It's fine," said the Inspector. "We seem to have caught him before he could do any damage."

"It's over?" I asked. I repeated it, answering my own question, "It's over."

"I wish the best of luck to you and Speed," he said. I closed the phone and hugged Speed, "They got him!"

"That's great, Trix!" he declared.

Then my phone rang again. We broke apart, staring at it with expressions of equal shock on our faces. I picked it up again, unsure of who it might be this time, "Hello?"

"I'd be happy if you visited me, Patricia," said my father's voice. "You come see me whenever your boyfriend happens to cross that finish line." He laughed a demonic chuckle and hung up.

"Trixie …?"

I grabbed his hand and pulled him aside. He glanced, bewildered, from the phone to me, "What's up? Who was that? Are you okay?"

"Speed, don't go out there," I said. "My father is trying to kill you …"

"_Some_body seems to try to kill me whenever I do _any_thing," he shrugged.

"That's it?" I asked. "That's all you're going to say!?" He brushed a piece of hair behind my ear, "I promise everything will be fine. Okay?" He walked back over to the lockers to put on his helmet.

"I guess I have to be," I sighed.

When Speed competed in the Grand Prix last year on the Cosmopolis, I couldn't figure out what was more beautiful, the scenery or the track. It was the moment that I started to wonder if it was time for another member of the house to get in on the action.

I stared around as we rolled our cars out of the blocks. The neon lights were even prettier than my dream had made them out to be. Advertisements and world flags spotted the scenery. There were also giant hippo balloons. I couldn't remember seeing those last year, and I'm not sure what they were for, but they were pretty funny.

"_Last year's Prix winner, Speed Racer, has returned this year," _said the commentator. _"And with him is the Pink Queen, Trixie Shimura. The favor for these two of winning is spilt nearly down the middle. Let's see how it plays out_._"_

The family was sitting in the stands smiling and waving. Chim-Chim was clapping.

_Please don't let it all go wrong_, I prayed. We slipped into our cockpits and prepared for the countdown.

"_10…_" the female voice began.

Why ten? I'd _never _encountered a countdown that started at ten before. It felt like hours.

"_3…_" she finally came to.

Even the butterflies in my stomach were vomiting.

"_2…"_

I hit the accelerator and noticed my teeth chattering.

"_1!_"

The word 'GO!' illuminated in the air. All forty cars took off. A crowd of ten put us in the middle. I glanced at Speed. He nodded. Together we accelerated out of the pack. Speed veered right, I went left. The ten cars crashed into each other.

"Only thirty more to worry about," I snorted to myself. Then I remembered who one of that thirty was.

"I mean twenty-nine," I revised my statement. S. Storm, one of those twenty-nine, came at me. She was a pretty blonde woman with a tight white suit and a white and green car called the Nukeshot. I had heard of her, but this was our first encounter

"There's only room for one beautiful girl on this track!" she yelled.

"How weird," I said. "I was just thinking the same thing." I Jump Attacked her. She bounced off in a Kwiksave bubble. Her car was left with a huge dent for the cockpit.

"Heh, heh," I chortled.

Suddenly, another car rammed me from behind. I was sent off a ramp, twisting and rolling. It was almost uncontrollable! The car flipped through the air again and again as I tried to get it back it its right position for landing.

As I continued to flip, I saw, just for a glance, the Mach 6 take off the ramp. The Royalton GRX seemed to be wrestling it. But I had no chance to see the end; the TRX-1 landed on the other side of the ramp, the sound of crushing metal obvious as I hit the track. I continued to drive. A voice came over the PA.

"_Speed Racer is OUT!"_

"What?" whispered I. The crowd was gasping in shock. I glanced in my rearview mirror. The Mach 6 was upside down, laying on the very end of the landing strip. Speed was lying on the track, knocked out, his white jacket open, and his helmet on the other side of the track. Where were the Kwiksaves?!

"_In the blocks_." Inspector Detector had told me he'd found my father in the blocks … with the _cars!_

I stared at Speed, pinned under his car. The words echoed in my head: _"Speed Racer is OUT! Speed Racer is OUT!!"_ They got fainter and fainter, but didn't vanish.

I stopped. Right in the middle of the track, I stopped. My hand instinctively moved to the gear to pull myself into reverse. Then my own voice blasted through my head, "_GET YOUR HAND OFF THAT GEAR!!_"

I moved my hand.

"_He'd want you to finish!_" I chastised myself. "_He'd want you to _win_! Forget Racer X! This _is_ your time. Don't let them take it away from you. Finish … for you __and__ for Speed._"

"Right," I chanted to myself, nodding. I looked at my boost bar. It was full. I suppose it was from all that flipping and rolling I did. I pressed the boost button and went into the Zone.

"I'm coming for you, Cannonball."


	16. Riding to Reach You

**_Riding to Reach You_**

--_**Author's Note:** the title to this chapter is a really obscure reference to a Travis song called "Writing to Reach You." It's a bit of a tie-in to the "Wonderwall" thing, since the songs use the same chords.--_

The world went blue. Everything was a blur but the cars in front of me. None of them were purple and gold. They were nothing but in the way. I veered left and right in zigzags, taking out one after another.

"_Trixie Shimura is plowing through the competition!_" yelled the commentator. "_I'm reminded of a young Velocity DeWit! She's become unstoppable!"_

"You bet your ass," I whispered in response. The TRX-1 went off a ramp, did a 360 roll and a 540 flip. I landed backwards on the track, realigned myself, and continued.

Booster Mbube, driving the green Surgebox, hit the side of my car and went past me. I caught up to her, slipped my hood under her, and pressed the A button. The Surgebox soared though the air and landed, rear first, on the other side of the ramp.

"_Oooh, that HAD to hurt!_" said the announcer. _"Too bad Booster Mbube didn't realize the Pink Queen's no shrinking violet!_"

Finally, as we came upon a swirled portion of the track, I could see the GRX.

"_Trixie Shimura is a woman possessed! Cannonball Taylor better get ready for her!"_

I turned my steering wheel steeply to the left to keep up with the new shape of ground, but I didn't even glance at it. I couldn't take my eyes off Cannonball and the GRX. As we came back to level ground, I found myself right next to him.

"Did you hear the play-by-play?" I asked. He snorted.

"So then I guess you're _not_ ready for me," I concluded. "Big mistake." I rammed him just like I had at Brittlerock. He Sweet Span me.

"_She's been hammered!!!"_ yelled the commentator. I pressed the X button, came back down on the track, and went after him again. We came to the big drop, but instead of driving down like I was supposed to, I pressed the A button and fell down through the air.

"Remember what you're fighting for, Trixie," I whispered to myself as my helmet fought to come off my head and my visor slipped up.

I was fighting for Speed; for all those times we had together at Inspiration Point.

"_Are you saying this doesn't make sense?"_

"_Okay, this makes sense too."_

For all the hurdles we'd gone through together.

"_This isn't a game, Trixie."_

"_I know. That's why I'm going with you."_

For saving me from the father I never really knew.

"_Your boyfriend is doomed."_

"_You monster!"_

For that permanent optimism I could only hope to one day have.

"_I promise it'll all be fine."_

And for that agreement we had made.

"_Never leave me."_

"_I won't." _

I hit the ground. The wheels almost went inside the bottom of the car from the force of the collision, but it bounced back. I slapped the black-tinted visor back over my eyes and took off.

The GRX was only about a yard ahead of me. I screamed like and Amazon, pressed the A button, and jumped on top of it. He shook me off, and I hit his side once more. Then I Sweet Span him, and he tumbled off like I imagine Speed had watched him do countless times.

"_You GO, girl!_" said the announcer. "_I mean, Trixie Shimura totally just ripped Cannonball Taylor apart! And now nothing seems to stand between her and the finish!"_

I started crying. I had done it. I had taken Cannonball down, but what had it done? Speed was still being peeled off the end of a ramp by some paramedics. Who knew what might have happened while he was under that car?

"Oh Mom, Pops, Spritle, I'm so sorry!" I wept while still attempting to drive. "It's all my fault. I never should have left home. I should have … I should have …"

I stopped talking. Should haves didn't help anyone now. Sobbing, I rolled across the finish line.

Somewhere—It felt like miles away—a PA announced, "_And the winner of the 92__nd__ Annual Grand Prix is TRIXIE SHIMURA!!!"_

Someone came at me with cold milk and a trophy. But I didn't care about that. I put my hands on my helmet, took it off, and threw it to the ground. The black visor smashed with a crunch.

"SPEED!" I yelled. I jumped out of the car, pushed all the fanfare out of my way, and bolted the other way.

"Trixie!" screamed a voice that sounded faintly like Mom Racer. "Trixie, come back!" But I ignored them completely. I continued to run up the track, dodging cars, disregarding the commentator shouting, "_Has she gone insane?! She's running back up the track!"_

Then I came to the end of a ramp. There it was. I couldn't go back. I stared down the track for a bit. The sheer emotion brought me to my knees. I began to weep harder, "Speed! Oh—oh, Speed!!"

Suddenly, there was this sound. It sounded a lot like … an engine. I looked up hopefully. The tears dried on my face as I saw a streak of white coming up the track. Anticipating its landing on the other side of the ramp, I took a few steps backward.

The Mach 6 flipped through the air and landed right in front of me.

"Sorry I'm late," said Speed. "Did I miss the after party?"

"You're okay!!" I exclaimed. He crawled out of the Mach 6 and assured me, "Of course I am." He pulled up his pant leg and said, "I always wear my lucky red socks."

Indeed, he was wearing red socks.

I put my arms around him and cried some more, but this time out of joy. I warned him, "If you ever scare me like that again, I'll have to kill you myself."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

The photographers and the family and reporters caught up with us just as we kissed. There were lovelorn sighs and "Awww's" and Spritle and Chim-Chim covering each other's eyes. Mom and Pops Racer looked touched and held each other's hands.

"I love you, Trixie" said Speed.

"What?" asked I.

"I love you," he repeated, laughing weakly. "I've been trying to tell you for weeks."

"And you still do?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"Everything's been just so messed up lately," I confessed. "I haven't been able to tell what's what. But I … I love you, too, Speed." I put my head in his chest.

"Um, Miss Shimura?" said a stranger.

"Yes?" asked I.

"Can you take this?" he asked, handing me a trophy. "It's very heavy." I took it, bewildered. I had no idea what was going on.

"Did … did I just win?" I asked stupidly.

"Yeah!" laughed Speed.

"Oh," I said. What else was there to say after not realizing something so significant? Someone held the bottle of cold milk to me again. I put the trophy down and took it, taking a quick sip. It needed strawberry syrup.

"What's next for you?!" asked a reporter.

"Will you continue to drive for Racer Motors?" asked another.

"Is a team up in the works for you two?"

I cleared my throat, snatched a microphone from someone, looked directly into his camera, and said, "I would like to take this opportunity to officially announce the _end_ of my racing career." I gave the mike back to its owner and walked away, declaring, "I mean, it's fun and all, but," I put an arm on Speed's shoulder, "this is _your_ forte. And my helicopter misses me."

"You can't stop now!" declared Speed.

"I just did," I replied with a shrug. I took his hand and led him back down to the finish line, "Come on, Speed, I still have my car on the end of the track." We pushed past the reporters. The family followed us. Behind our heads, the neon ticker said "Winner: Trixie Shimura."

I stared at my name for a while, crawling out of sight and back again on the small digital screen. Finally I could leave it behind. I had accomplished all I could have wanted from this sport, in only one year. People were going to remember the Pink Queen.

And I finally realized my heart was in the skies.

Later that night I was taking a walk. On my way home, I saw a yellow and black car. I stepped in front of him. As I suspected, Racer X climbed out of the vehicle and meandered up to me.

"Hello," I said.

"You raced well out there, kid," he confessed. He wouldn't apologize for telling Speed to 'keep the girlfriend at home.' I knew that. Somehow I didn't see Racer X as a person who _ever_ said 'sorry.'

"Shame you won't go on," he said. "You could be as great as Speed … maybe even better."

"I doubt that," I snorted. "But it's nice to think about."

"He's okay?" asked Racer X.

"He's going to be fine," I replied.

"Good," he said. He turned to walk back to his car.

"Rex!" I yelled. He didn't stop. But I thought I heard a small chuckle. He got inside the Shooting Star and turned the key in the ignition. I put my hands on the hood to stop him. I shouted, "Rex! Stop this! Come home! I'm sure the family would forgive you if you told them the truth. And Speed … It would mean the world to him."

"No wonder he likes you," he said. "You both have active imaginations."

"ARRRRGH!" I yelled. "You know what?! I give up!" I took my hands off the head and started to walk away.

The car didn't move.

I went back over to him and said, "If it's whether I'm going to tell Speed or not that you're wondering in that helmet head of yours … you can stop worrying. I'm _never_ going to breathe a word about any of this. So drive off into the night. The identity of Racer X will remain a secret."

He did.

"For the record, I don't know how Minx puts up with you!" I yelled after him.

"TRIXXXXXXIEEEEE!!!" yelled Speed's voice as he slammed on the brakes. His head jerked forward. He let out a deep breath and asked, "Jeez, Trix, what are you _doing?!_"

"Sorry," I said, turning my car to face the road again. "I was talking with Racer X."

"What about?"

"… He, uh … he admitted I could race."

Why take part in the lie? I'll put it this way. I'd known Speed for years. I was his best friend long before I was his girlfriend. I was one of his few friends that knew Rex before he "died." Now my job was to protect him. And to do so, if I had to keep the Masked Racer only known as X, I would. I knew that the only thing that would hurt him more than thinking his brother was dead would be to know he was alive all this time and _lied_ about it.

"Oh," said Speed. "Well, I came out to get you." He opened the passenger side door, "It's pretty late. You should get home."

"I guess I should," I concurred. I crawled into the passenger seat, shut the door, and rested my head upon his shoulder. Together we took off down the trail, back home.


	17. Epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

_**--Author's note:** Oh, wow ... it's over. I'm sort of sad to be finished now. Oh well. You haven't heard (or read) the last of me, I've already got a new story in mind.--_

_Dear Mr. Shimura._

_This will be the last you ever hear from me, not only because you'll likely be in jail for the rest of your life, but also because I feel any ties that we had have been permanently severed. As such, I'm finally free to tell you what I truly think of you._

_You are nothing less than an egocentric maniac. You're evil and selfish and you've never been loved or known how wonderful it is to love someone. Momma didn't love you; I could see it in her eyes the day I left._

_I think I finally know the true reason you hate Speed Racer so much. It may have started about his parents and their car business, but now, I know, it's because he's a good person. He's naturally good. And he loves me. That's why you wanted to take him from me. You want me alone and miserable like you. But it'll never be that way._

_Goodbye, Mr. Shimura. And, this time, may it be forever._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Trixie Shimura_

I stared at the closing, shook my head, and crossed it out with my pen.

_Sincerely yours,_

_Trixie Racer_

"Yes," I said, nodding stoutly at the change.

Speed knocked softly on the door and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Writing a letter to Mr. Shimura in jail," I replied.

"Oh," he said. He peered over my shoulder at the paper. His eyes closed in on the name in the farewell.

"I'll change it back to Shimura, if you think that's going a bit too far," I said. I started to reach into my pen cup to find a white-out bottle. He grabbed my arm to stop me.

I looked up at his face. He was staring at the paper and smiling. But this time, there was no question about it, his smile wasn't humorous; it was one of pure joy.

He kissed my cheek and said, "I _do_ love you, Trixie."

"I know," I replied. "And I love you, too."

"Why don't you seal that thing up?" he asked. "I'll take you down to the mailbox. I'm pretty sure, if we get a move on, we can drop it off before the mailman gets there."

"Okay," I said, folding the piece of paper.

We walked down the sidewalk together, his arm around my waist and mine around his neck.

"Trixie Racer," I said aloud. "You think it has a ring to it?"

"Oh, yeah!" he answered. "Just … don't sign autographs with it for a while—the _Racing Chronicle _just might publish a story that we went to Fuji and eloped the night after the Grand Prix."

We burst out into laugher and passed the garage. The door was open. Pops and/or Sparky were probably working. Sitting side by side, clear coats gleaming in the sun, were the Mach 5 and the TRX helicopter.

And so, the status quo has restored itself again … for now.


End file.
